


As the Crow Flies

by AWammysHouseDropout



Series: The Ninja World's Dirty Little Secrets [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Chronic Illness, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Kisame is a good bro, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Srsly angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Terminal Illnesses, Tragedy, Uchiha Itachi Being a Good Brother, Yaoi, everyone is bi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 20:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWammysHouseDropout/pseuds/AWammysHouseDropout
Summary: -Itachi never answers his question. No matter how many times Kisame asks, the words bounce off as though the boy were made of stone.Kisame pretends he doesn't mind. But he always wonders-"Where are you looking with those eyes of yours, Itachi-san?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reworking and reposting this story from my account on fanfiction.net. I hope somebody enjoys it.  
> Please note the warnings and tags going forward, and be wary of spoilers!
> 
> Also note: I tend to write disjointedly and out-of-sequence. Jumps between timelines will be represented by this symbol here: ~oOo~. Jumps within the same timeline will be represented by a horizontal line. Thank you!

 

 

**~oOo~**

"So you're really leaving, Zabuza?"

Kisame's tone isn't accusatory. It isn't sad. It's matter-of-fact and plain, and addressed to the back of Zabuza's head.

Zabuza nods, but doesn't turn around to look at Kisame.

"Were you even gonna tell me?" Kisame tries very hard not to sound hurt.

"Didn't see a point." Zabuza replies.

"And you're taking the kid with you?"

The little child beside Zabuza peers over at Kisame with those wide, brown eyes.

"Yeah." Zabuza answers.

Kisame frowns, but, of course, Zabuza doesn't see it.

"Try not to get yourself killed." Kisame says.

"Same to you." Zabuza replies.

Kisame's frown turns into a half-smile.

"Hey, if you don't die, maybe we'll meet up again."

Zabuza doesn't answer. He gestures to the sad-eyed boy glued to his side.

"Haku, we're leaving."

The boy follows obediently, little hand grasping for Zabuza's, as if afraid of losing him. And Zabuza- callous, uncaring Zabuza- does something Kisame never thought he would do.

Scarred, calloused, crooked fingers curl around that tiny, fragile hand.

Almost like (as absurd as the thought is) Zabuza is afraid, too.

 

 

**~oOo~**

 

Kisame's first impression of Uchiha Itachi was, to be frank, not a good one.

Konan has to prod the boy out from behind her to properly meet the rest of Akatsuki.

"This is Uchiha Itachi- formerly of the Hidden Leaf," Leader says, his low voice tinged with what might be happiness. "From now on, he'll be one of us, so treat him kindly."

He's such a tiny little thing- the top of his head only reaches Kisame's collarbone. Skinny, too- there's no meat on that sack of skin and bones in front of him. Were it not for the blood sprayed across his body, nobody in their right mind would take him for a killer.

Despite being small and terribly non-intimidating, however, this tiny brat carries himself with all the haughty arrogance of a lord. He regards Kisame with flat, soulless black eyes, a disinterested expression on his blood-spattered face.

"Kisame, he'll be your partner."

How annoying.

But, if Leader said this was his his new partner, then so be it. Kisame doesn't care enough to argue.

"Sounds good to me," is what he chooses to say. "Let's get along, shall we, Itachi-san?"

Kisame offers the boy a smile that's really just teeth.

Itachi's expression (or lack thereof) doesn't change a millimeter.  
Annoying. "Well then- shall I show you to our room?"

He doesn't get a response, but when he turns to leave, Itachi follows behind him.

His footsteps are so quiet that, for one brief moment, Kisame wonders if perhaps the child is a ghost.

(Of course not. That's ridiculous.)

"You're pretty young to be hanging around here, aren't ya?" Kisame asks, the silence beginning to make him quite uncomfortable.

No answer (again).

"Well, I hope you can keep up with me. I'm not a babysitter, ya know."

It's like talking to a damn brick wall.

"Well, here's home sweet home, Itachi-san."

It's a plain room, but more than large enough to house two people. There are two beds (With two footlockers at the ends), two bedside tables, two small desks, a single large closet, a bathroom tucked away in an unassuming corner, and a sliding paper divider to separate the two halves.

"That half's yours, Itachi-san." Kisame gestures to the empty portion of the room, where crisp white sheets lay neatly folded atop the bare mattress. "You can take a bath if you wanna get that blood off you."

Itachi nods, once, and wordlessly closes the divider between them.

Kisame huffs, and glares at the shadow of Itachi still visible through the paper.

So. His partner is some uppity punk from Konoha. Fair enough. So long as the bastard doesn't get in the way too badly, he supposes he can make that work.

He grabs Samehada and heads out to do some training. Taking out his annoyance on a few training dummies seems in order.

* * *

 

Scalding water washes over Itachi's skin, washing gore down the drain in a pinkish spiral pattern.

Sobs bubble out of his throat like soap suds, so loud and so sharp that someone on the other side of the door might think he's laughing.

His knees give way beneath him, hitting the slick shower tile with a dull thud. Blunt fingernails dig into his shoulders, drawing blood. His entire body quakes with the force of his grief, every cell wracked with unendurable anguish.

__It hurts so much..._ _

_If only I could just die..._

He looks up from the shower floor and catches the glint of a razor sitting on the edge of the sink, and drags himself the short distance to get it.

With a trembling hand, he reaches to grab the razor's handle, pulling it down toward him.

_I can't. I can't die yet._

When the cold metal bites into the flesh of his thigh, phantom voices play at the back of his mind.

_"You can't keep do this to yourself, Itachi! You'll end up dead if you keep this up!"_

_**I'm sorry, Father...** _

_"Itachi, darling- you're breaking my heart. Please tell me what's wrong…"_

_**I'm sorry, Mother...** _

_"Itachi-kun, what're all those bandages for? Did you get hurt?"_

_**I'm sorry, Izumi...** _

_"Damnit, Itachi! You don't have to do this! Don't shut me out! Let me help you!"_

_**I'm sorry, Shisui...** _

A fresh bout of sobs overcomes him. He slashes his skin once, twice, a dozen times, as if he could bleed out all the rotten feelings inside him.

Father never understood. Mother never understood. Shisui never understood.

How could they?

__It doesn't matter anymore…_ _

The pain on his skin takes his mind away from the pain in his heart, if only for the moment.

_I'm sorry, Mother…I'm sorry, Father..._

Itachi watches the blood spill from the gashes in his pale skin, washing away under the spray of the shower and spinning lazily toward the drain.

_I'm so sorry...Sasuke…_

~oOo~

Itachi can't quite bring his eyes into proper focus, so he stares at some point a great distance away, while the man's words wash over him without really registering in his mind. He's vaguely aware of Danzo's hawkish gaze burning into him while Sarutobi speaks.

(He's glad that he's kneeling right now, because he's not sure if he has the strength in his legs to stand.)

"I'm so sorry it had to come to this," the Hokage says, his voice heavy. "But you've done well. Thank you, Itachi."

Itachi manages to nod, though it's hard to even keep his head upright.

"It's unfortunate," Sarutobi continues, "but from today on, you'll have to be branded as a Rogue Ninja, and an enemy of Konoha. I'm sorry."

"...That's alright," Itachi croaks, though it makes his heart ache to say it. "I only have one request- if I can make it."

Sarutobi looks pityingly on the boy kneeling before him.

"Of course. What can I do for you, Itachi?"

Itachi bows his head, and takes an unsteady breath.

"Please look after Sasuke." Desperation makes his voice waver ever so slightly. "Make sure he's safe, and taken care of. Make sure he never learns the truth of what happened…"

Black eyes rise to meet brown, full of sorrow. Pleading. Begging.

"Please. He's all I have."

Sarutobi sighs heavily.

"Of course. He'll be safe- please don't worry."

Using his sword for leverage, Itachi drags himself to his feet. His entire body feels like lead.

"Where will you go now, Itachi?" Danzo asks, speaking for the first time since he arrived.

"Oh, he'll be coming with _me._ "

The sudden deep, imposing voice makes both the old men jump.

A masked man with messy hair materializes behind Itachi, grabbing the boy's shoulders in a manner far too intimate to be appropriate.

"Wh-who are you?!" Hiruzen demands.

"Oh, I'm nobody important. You can call me Madara."

Both Hiruzen and Danzo blanch, gaping at the man before them.

"You can't be- how are you-"

A dark chuckle rumbles in Madara's chest.

"You see, this clever boy found me, all on his own," he continues, ignoring Sarutobi entirely. "And he and I struck up a bargain."

Madara's hand lifts Itachi's drooping head, not allowing him to hide his face.

"As it so happens, we both had something the other person wanted. I've been looking to recruit members for my little organization, the Akatsuki. As luck would have it, Itachi-chan is a perfect fit. So, Itachi will be part of Akatsuki from this day forward- in exchange, Akatsuki and myself will leave Konohagakure untouched. I think that's a fair trade, don't you?"

Neither of the men answer.

"Hey now, why the troubled faces?" Madara teases, pulling Itachi against his chest in a mockery of a friendly embrace. "I'll take care of him. After all- Itachi is such a good boy."

Before either Itachi, Danzo or Sarutobi can utter another word, Madara pulls Itachi into the spiral vortex of the Kamui, and they're gone.

 

 

~oOo~

The bandages wound around Itachi's leg rub against the soft fabric of his plain gray pajamas every time he moves, a quiet reminder of what he's just done.

He fixes his bed up with the crisp white sheets, and crawls under the heavy black blanket with a dull sigh.

His eyes feel heavy. His body feels numb.

(Three days. It's been three days since he's last slept.)

He hugs the pillow tightly and lets exhaustion claim him.

 

* * *

 

 

Obito finds him asleep, tossing and turning and whimpering like a wounded animal.

__Ah. A nightmare._ _

Well, that's to be expected, given all the boy's gone through. After tonight, he might very well never have another peaceful night's sleep again- if he'd ever had any to begin with.

Kisame is snoring away at the other side of the paper divider, oblivious to his new partner's distress. Obito sits at the foot of Itachi's bed and watches him wrestle with the demons in his mind.

The boy's pretty face twists into an expression of anguish. He groans like he's in grave pain, grabbing handfuls of bed sheets like that would keep him anchored. His breath comes in quick, panicked gasps.

Obito sighs.

"Wake up," he commands- loud enough to rouse Itachi, but not enough to disturb his partner.

Itachi wakes with a jolt, flying upright in bed with a startled gasp. Sharingan flashes briefly in his eyes, but fades when they come into focus.

Obito doesn't insult Itachi by telling him he had been having a nightmare.

"You holding up alright?" he asks, instead.

Itachi blinks at him, once. Then, he makes a small, sad sound.

"I'll take that as a 'not really' then."

The boy swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands up. He leaves the room without looking at Obito again.

_Well. How rude._

He'll let it slide, though. Just this once.

Itachi's been through enough for one day.  


* * *

 

 

Itachi stares blankly at the kettle on the stove, transfixed by the steadily flickering flame below it.

His stomach hurts (is it because he's ill, or because it's been so long since he's last eaten that he can't remember?). His muscles ache. His head is throbbing.

The pain is nothing, though, compared to the oppressive numbness that settles inside him, as reality sets in.

He'll never go home again.

He'll never hug his mother again.

He'll never hear his father proudly proclaim _"that's my boy!"_ again.

He'll never see Izumi or Shisui again.

The reality of this should make him sad. But he doesn't feel sad. At the moment, he doesn't feel anything.

"Up a bit late, aren't you, Itachi-kun?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Itachi catches a glimpse of a quite familiar face.

Of course, he'd mostly seen that face in the bingo book, with an admonishment that he was volatile and extremely dangerous (something that seemed quite at odds with the placid expression he wore in the photographs). But he'd seen it in person, once before.

He'd been young, then. Oh so very young. Shaken to his core, burning with a question his father couldn't answer.

He'd wandered to the graveyard, walking amongst the rows of dead shinobi, as if their headstones held the answer for him.

And that's when he'd spotted him.

Standing alone, before a pair of nondescript graves, gold eyes a million miles away. The student of the Third Hokage and one of the Sannin. Even someone as young as Itachi knew his name. Orochimaru.

Itachi had approached him that day, a million years ago. Fists clenched, brow furrowed, he had asked the one question no other adult could answer.

_"What's the point of life?"_

The man had given him that same pitying, sad sort of smile he has on now.

 _"There isn't one,"_ he had replied, bluntly. _"If there was any meaning to this life, why would it ever end?"_

He'd left before Itachi had the time to ask him any more.

But Itachi never forgot.

He doesn't say a word to acknowledge Orochimaru, keeping his gaze fixed on the stove's stalwart flame.

"If you're making tea, I'll have some too, if you don't mind."

Again, Itachi doesn't speak. However, he does oblige the man, and retrieves another mug from the cupboard.

The kettle whistles at him, signalling that it's done with its work. Itachi reaches for it without realizing how badly his hands are shaking.

"Hey, be careful-"

Itachi yelps, heat searing his hands and arms. He jerks backward and nearly topples over, only barely able to steady himself. Orochimaru catches the kettle in one swift motion, and returns it to the countertop.

"Itachi-kun, are you alright?"

Orochimaru reaches out toward him. Fear, white-hot and blinding, turns Itachi's blood to ice.

A feeble "no" slips from his throat as he backs away, feeling his whole body begin to shake.

Orochimaru sighs.

"I just want to have a look," he says, patiently.

"Don't _touch_ me."

Itachi's legs buckle dangerously as he tries back up further-but the back of his right calf meets the edge of the kitchen table, and stops him.

"I'm not going to do anything, Itachi-kun. I just want to see those hands of yours."

He gently sits the boy down at the table. Itachi hears the faucet running, and a few moments later, Orochimaru returns with a cold towel.

The man kneels at the table as well. A whimper escapes the child, Sharingan spinning to life in his eyes.

"Shh. It's alright, Itachi-kun. Here- this will help."

This time, when Orochimaru reaches for Itachi's hands, the boy reluctantly yields them.

The man's hands are dry and rough, his touch clinical and to the point. Itachi can't look at him, because any moment, he's going to find _those-_

"Oh dear."

Itachi doesn't need to move his head to know what Orochimaru sees.

The newest scars to Itachi's collection. The pair he'd added not quite a month after Shisui's death. The scars he'd made in the bathroom in the dead of night, sobbing from the pain and the utter hopelessness of it all. The scars that aren't quite scars yet, still red and raw and angry.

(The scars he'd hoped would finally take his life.)

"Oh, Itachi-kun."

Itachi almost wants to hit Orochimaru, just to be rid of the pity in his voice.

The pain in his hands is relieved by the cool cloth wrapped around them. A little shiver involuntarily courses through him.

"There. That's not so bad, is it?"

The soft, reassuring tone of Orochimaru's voice is not unlike Mother's. She always spoke to him in that tone when she knew he was upset.

_That voice I'll never hear again…_

He chokes, and can't stop the tears that fall as his emotions overwhelm him.

He feels childish, and so painfully _weak._

"Itachi-kun."

Itachi shakes his head.

Another sigh.

"...They got you, didn't they?"

Itachi makes a small sound of confusion, and finally turns his head.

Orochimaru's expression isn't anything like he thought it would be- there's no hint of disgust in it. That not-smile graces his face once more, gold eyes looking at him sympathetically.

"It's okay, Itachi-kun." Orochimaru's voice is quiet. Understanding. "They got me, too."

_They got me, too_

Itachi's blood runs cold in his veins. Crimson eyes go wide, as the weight admission settles on him.

His breath is trapped. _He can't mean…_

"You poor child."

What Orochimaru does next, Itachi wouldn't have expected in a million years.

The man wraps his arms around Itachi, and pulls him into a hug.

 

Itachi flinches, but ultimately decides not to pull away.

Because Orochimaru is surprisingly warm. He smells like lavender and jasmine, and his arms are strong like Father's. Because, right now, he's desperately in need of any sort of comfort.

So, instead of pulling away, Itachi lets himself be held- just once. Just for awhile. He buries his face in Orochimaru's shoulder, as if he could hide away from the world like that forever.

"It hurts…" The boy whimpers.

"I know." The man replies.

Itachi allows himself to pretend he's being comforted- just for awhile. And when he pushes Orochimaru away, the man obliges him.

"I'll make us that tea, Itachi-kun. You'll feel better then."

(It's a lie. They both know it's a lie. But that's okay for now, isn't it?)

"Yes. Alright."

Silence reigns between them. Orochimaru rustles around in the cupboard, and Itachi keeps the cool towel around his throbbing hands.

In a few minutes, Orochimaru hands Itachi a hot cup of ginger tea, and sits down with one of his own.

The warm tea eases Itachi's sour stomach with the first mouthful. He keeps a careful eye on Orochimaru all the while, though he, at last, allows his Sharingan to fade.

"If you're worried about Kisame-san," Orochimaru says, apparently trying to make pleasant small talk, "you don't need to. He's a bit prickly at first, but I think you two will get along well."

"Hmm."

"He's not an unfriendly person, Itachi-kun. You might end up liking him."

Itachi makes another small sound of acknowledgement, and they lapse into a companionable silence for a few minutes.

"I suppose I should head back- Sasori-kun will wonder where I've wandered off to."

Orochimaru stands up, mug of tea still in hand.

"If you're having trouble sleeping, I could mix you up something that will help," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Itachi nods once.

And he's alone again.


	2. The Shark and the Crow

 

 

 

 

**~oOo~**

Kisame was quite young when he realized he was different from the people around him

How could he not? After all, you don't have to be very old to notice something wrong with your reflection.

And, after all, people generally don't have blue skin, do they? Or razor sharp teeth that constantly cut up the inside of their mouths. None of the other kids are as tall as he is. Or look the way he does. He's different, and he knows that.

The other people know that, too.

The other children steal his things and call him names, and beat him up whenever there are enough of them to pin him down. They leave deep black bruises on his blue skin, and angry thoughts bubbling in his mind.

That doesn't last very long, though.

Because Kisame is also stronger than the people around him. And it doesn't take long before he figures that out, as well.

So he fights back.

He fights back with nails and teeth and fists and harsh words he spits from his tongue like acid. He snaps and snarls and lashes out with everything he has. He trains until his hands bleed, so he can become even stronger.

Because, as he learned from the beginning, only the strongest can survive in this world.

So he'll make sure he's the strongest of all.

**~oOo~**

Orochimaru is the only other person in the kitchen when Kisame enters, nursing a cup of coffee while he watches the rain just outside the window. He gives Kisame a half-nod in greeting, but doesn't turn his head or say a word.

Kisame helps himself to a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter, downing it in a few swallows. He cringes at the bitterness, sets the cup back down on the counter, and glances toward Orochimaru again.

"You seen the kid?" He asks.

"Hm? I think Itachi-kun said he was going to the training grounds. He mumbles though, so I may have misheard."

A playful tone rings in the last sentence- Orochimaru seems quite amused by Akatsuki's new addition.

"Oh, so he can talk, then," Kisame grumbles. "I wouldn't have known it."

"Well, if I were in his position, I wouldn't be in the mood to say much, either."

"Eh?"

"Did nobody tell you? The Uchiha are all dead now, and it's Itachi-kun's fault. How do you think he got Leader's attention?"

Kisame raises an eyebrow.

"Did Leader tell you and not me?"

"Hm? No, nothing like that."

Orochimaru fiddles absentmindedly with a stray lock of his hair, pretending to be disinterested.

"I just like keeping up with Konoha's latest scandals. That's all. I'd assume Leader didn't say anything out of respect- Itachi-kun's business is Itachi-kun's business, after all."

Kisame grumbles, but doesn't say anything else.

He decides he wants to watch what the kid does for training, so he slings Samehada over his shoulder and heads out, leaving Orochimaru to resume his daydreaming.

* * *

The brief walk from the Akatsuki building to the training ground is enough to leave Kisame soaked to the skin (though he doesn't mind much). Just as Orochimaru said, he finds Itachi in the open training field.

Or rather, he finds two of him.

The distinct, sharp sound of metal on metal cuts through the pouring rain, the blade of Itachi's sword clashing against his clone's with lightning speed. The crimson of the Sharingan is almost luminescent in the gray morning light,dark hair plastered to his forehead with water and sweat. He moves in quick, sharp bursts, red eyes locked on his clone intensely.

His focus would honestly be admired-

If he wasn't so focused that he didn't notice Kisame enter the grounds.

As a matter of fact, Itachi is so intent on his training that he doesn't so much as flinch.

Kisame walks up behind him, watching a while, until watching bores him. Keeping silent, he pulls a kunai from his cloak, and tosses it at what he guesses is the real Itachi (just to see how the boy would respond).

His guess, however, turns out to be wrong. The not-Itachi evaporates into a cloud of smoke the moment the kunai pierces its side.

The actual Itachi casts a mildly unamused expression in Kisame's direction, but doesn't say a word, naturally.

"You're up pretty early, kid."

No response yet again. Kisame feels his temper grow ever closer to the boiling point, sick of being brushed off by a goddamned child.

"You know, if you need to train with someone, I'm always up for a bit of sparring- if you think you can handle me, that is."

Itachi blinks, fidgeting in what might be discomfort.

Kisame's fingers curl around Samehada, a growl bubbling in his throat.

"Hey, I don't much care for getting blown off all the time. If you don't wanna talk, I might just have to see if I can make you squeal."

When Kisame is answered with silence yet again, he's finally had enough. He lunges at the boy, swiping Samehada at him in some attempt to wipe that smug, apathetic look off the brat's face.

Itachi ducks out of the way as easily as if he were brushing off a bug,his expression not changing a millimeter. However, he's less lucky in dodging Kisame's left hook, and takes a vicious punch square to the jaw, staggering backward from the force of the blow. Kisame grabs the brat by the hair, growling in aggravation.

"Heh. Feels like silk.' Kisame sneers, tightening his grip even more. "Like a girl's hair. What's a punk kid like you doing to get such girly hair? I'd think you should be training more, instead of preening like some fussy bird."

He forces the boy to turn around, yanking him so close their noses almost touch.

"Let's get something straight, brat. I'm getting pretty damn tired of the silent treatment already. So, unless you really wanna piss me off, I'd get over the smug-rock-wall act and quit pretending you're so far above me."

For maybe three or four seconds, Itachi stares at Kisame with those flat, lifeless black eyes.

Then, out of nowhere, he bursts into a cacophonous flock of ill-tempered crows.

The incessant cawing beats on Kisame's eardrums. He covers his head with his hands to try and protect it from the angry swarm of pitch black birds. He swears and tries to swat them away to no avail.

But then, as suddenly as they appeared, the crows scatter, the noise fading rapidly into nothing.

"If you're trying to bully me, it won't work."

Kisame's head snaps around, looking for the source of the voice.

He spots Itachi, nestled up in a gnarled oak tree, munching on a box of strawberry pocky, and watching him with that same expression of vague disinterest.

Kisame glares daggers at the brat.

"So, he finally speaks," he grumbles halfheartedly. "I was wondering if you even could."

(The kid's voice is surprisingly low for being only thirteen.)

Itachi shrugs, breaking off half a stick of pocky between his teeth.

"I'm not fond of talking," he replies, twirling another of the slim pastries between spindly fingers. "I'm sorry if that annoys you."

Kisame dusts the feathers and dirt off his clothes, still scowling at the boy.

"Where the fuck did you get those, anyway?" He demands, gesturing to the pocky in the boy's hand.

"I got them while you were talking," Itachi explains, flatly.

Kisame then realizes what's happened.

"So, how long did you have me under genjutsu?" He asks.

"Since you came in. Did you think I didn't notice you?"

Kisame can't help but snicker.

"I guess the joke's on me, then."

"It wasn't really a joke."

Itachi finally decides to stop fiddling with his pocky and eat it.

"If we're talking about what annoys us, by the way," he says, while chewing, "if you don't mind, I'll have to ask you not to ever touch me."

Once again, Kisame chortles in surprise.

So he's one of those people.

Itachi raises an eyebrow, leaning over from his tree branch as if to ask _what's so funny_?

"You're one of those finicky little brats, aren't you?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

"Is that what made you decide to kill your family?"

Itachi doesn't answer, but the way his body stiffens makes him seem startled.

"Did you plan on keeping that a secret, Itachi-san? Because something like that doesn't stay a secret very long."

If Itachi is annoyed by this, he doesn't show it.

He stands up and leaps out of his tree, landing on the ground with no more than a small tap. Kisame is once again reminded just how tiny he is- if he wanted to, Kisame could easily crush this kid's skinny neck with one hand.

Itachi turns to try to leave; Kisame lays Samehada over his shoulder to tell him to stay where he is- a command he's surprised Itachi obeys.

"Hey, Itachi-san- do you wanna know something interesting?"

The boy doesn't even turn his head.

"There are some sharks whose eggs hatch inside their bodies before they're born live. But- the number of pups that are born is always less than the number of eggs that hatched. Do you know why?"

No answer, but Itachi tenses up in what might be fear. Kisame grins, and answers his own question.

"It's cannibalism. The pups fight and eat each other in their mother's womb. Only the strongest pups get to survive long enough to be born."

This gets Itachi to turn his head. His brow furrows the smallest fraction- possibly to ask "the hell are you telling me this for?"

"How did you feel when you slaughtered your kin in cold blood, I wonder."

Tiny, childish hands curl into tiny, childish fists.

"It's indescribable, isn't it? That rush when you cut down your own comrades?"

The only sound is the pouring rain.

"But remember, Itachi-san- we're comrades now, too. So be careful."

After another small eternity with only the rain's dull roar to break the silence, Itachi speaks.

"...You sure talk a lot."

He raises a hand and dismissively brushes off Samehada. Turning around to face Kisame, he shakes his head, turning those too big, too dark eyes up at him.

"We aren't fish. We're human." He says, flatly. Then, he turns back around and walks off.

Funnily enough, Kisame doesn't feel angry. Maybe a bit annoyed- but not angry.

_Why not?_

It's Kisame's turn to shake his head now.

"Fucking brat," he grumbles, then follows Itachi back indoors.

**~oOo~**

"You're not eating."

Itachi startles back to attention, looking up from the bowl of anmitsu he'd been playing with for the last twenty minutes. Shisui and Izumi are both watching him hawkishly from across the table, worry written in their brow.

"Hey, something on your mind?" Shisui asks. "You've been all quiet."

Itachi rests his head in his hand and sighs.

"I've just got a bit of a headache," he lies.

"Are you okay?!" Izumi demands, leaping from her seat and laying a hand across his forehead. "Are you getting sick? You feel like you've got a fever! Do you need to go home and lie down?!"

Itachi's face grows hot with embarrassment. Shisui laughs.

"He said he's got a headache, not that he's dying. Chill out, will ya?"

Itachi offers up a shaky smile at Izumi.

"I'm alright," he lies again. "Just tired. That's all."

"You work too much, Itachi-kun!" Izumi scolds. "You need to take a day off and rest!"

"I know, I know..." Itachi mumbles.

"We should all get some time off and go down to the river this weekend," Shisui offers. "We can just get a fuckload of dango and forget everything for a day. Sasuke can come with us too!"

Itachi nods,absentmindedly stirring his anmitsu around.

Yeah. A day off with his friends sounds nice. A day away from the mission office and the compound and everything else.

"You think you can manage to snag a day off? Or are they still trying to work you to death?"

"Hm? Yeah, I think so. They owe me one after I bailed Kuronosuke out last week. I'll see if he'll take some of my work."

Izumi claps her hands gleefully, her brown eyes sparkling with delight.

"I'll make us all lunch! It'll be so much fun!"

Itachi makes one last attempt at what he hopes is a smile.

"Yeah…"

He takes a bite of anmitsu to appease his companions.

_It'll be fun..._

 


	3. Amegakure no Sato

**~oOo~**

Seated in the empty hall, Itachi quietly eavesdrops on his parents and a stern-faced jounin talk behind the closed door. He'd ushered Itachi's parents quickly into an empty classroom, with that serious face adults get, after instructing Itachi to wait outside.

So- Itachi is waiting.

(Itachi is always such an obedient child.)

He doesn't know (and doesn't much care) if they find out he's listening in. If they're going to try to talk about him behind his back, he's gonna find out what they're saying.

"-As you know, every new applicant to the academy goes through a series of tests before they begin classes."

The jounin has a surprisingly soft voice, given how big and imposing he looked when Itachi very briefly met him.

"Yeah," his father says curtly. "What about it?"

"Well-" Itachi hears the man shuffle papers nervously. "Normally, there's a set time where every parent comes in to discuss the children's test results, but we felt it was important to discuss Itachi's with you right away."

"Did he not do well?" Mother asks, worry in her voice.

(Silly mother- as if Itachi could ever do something poorly.)

"No, nothing like that- actually, he's quite bright for his age. But-"

More paper shuffling. Itachi presses his ear against the wall so he can hear more clearly.

"-Some of his results on the psychological tests we ran are a bit concerning."

"What do you mean?"

Itachi can tell Mother is wringing her hands- she always does that when she's upset.

"Listen- you're his parents, so I'll be frank; Itachi displays several of the markers for depression."

Itachi furrows his brow. Sasuke lets out a small whine of fear.

"He's five!" Fugaku protests.

"Darling, please…" Mikoto mutters.

"There isn't a set age where people can start getting depression," the jounin tries to explain. "It's generally a combination of life experience and an imbalance of chemicals in the brain. It's pretty unusual in someone his age, but it isn't entirely unheard of- especially given the times we're living in."

Itachi frowns, and tries to press his head even closer to the wall.

"...Well, what does that mean?" Mikoto asks. "What can we do for him?"

"If you want my recommendation-" The jounin hesitates (probably because Fugaku gave him a nasty look). "-I  think you two need to reconsider whether he's a good candidate to be a shinobi at all."

"You can't be serious!"

Father sounds angry- the harsh tone of his voice sends a shiver up Itachi's spine. Sasuke makes another frightened noise.

"I-I know it's difficult to consider," the jounin stammers. "But it's important to think about Itachi's well-being here. The academy can be incredibly stressful; not to mention the work that will be expected of him once he graduates. Given the sort of mental state he's displayed, it might do him some permanent harm to push him down this path."

Itachi's parents are deathly silent. Itachi is standing up now, whole body pressed against the door, begging them to say _something._

(He'd even be happy if Father started yelling again- this silence is unbearable.)

Through the silence, Itachi can hear all the hopes and dreams he's built up for himself- all the promises he's made to his newborn little brother- crashing down around him.

"On top of that, there's also his medical history to take into consideration."

The jounin's voice is so soft and sympathetic, yet it still makes Itachi so _angry._

"I'm sure you two know how taxing shinobi life is. Seeing how prone he is to getting ill- if you want my honest opinion, it'd be dangerous for him on those grounds alone. There's a good chance something bad would happen, when he's somewhere he can't get help-"

"-Don't speak about my son as if he's going to die!"

Itachi flinches; father is absolutely _livid._

"...I wasn't saying that," the jounin mumbles. "I'm saying that you two, as his parents, need to think about whether this is something Itachi will be able to handle. There are other-"

"-I can do it!"

The words leave Itachi's mouth before he realizes he's saying them- louder than he's ever spoken before in his life. His cheeks burn with embarrassment; chairs shriek from the other side of the door.

A moment later, the door opens. Itachi looks up at the grim face of his father, the startled face of the jounin, and the worried face of his mother.

"...I-I can do it!" Itachi says again, tripping over the words a bit. "I _need_ to do it!"

The flush in his face grows stronger, but he shoves the embarrassment down. Tiny hands curl into tiny fists, his whole body tense as he forces himself to speak.

"A-at least let me try! Let me prove you wrong!"

"Itachi, honey-" Mikoto sounds unsure whether to be proud or sad. Sasuke squirms in her arms, concerned babbling escaping him.

"...I can do it," Itachi says once more. "Mother, Father- I can do it. I know I can…"

His parents glance at each other, then at the stern-faced jounin.

The man sighs.

"...We can retest him in a month," he says, leafing through the papers in his hands to avoid Fugaku's fierce glare. "If he shows some improvement by then, I can sign off on his entry. It'd be preferable if he put some weight on, as well."

"I can do that!" Itachi declares, with all the determination his frail body can muster.

Bashfully, he glances up at his father. Sasuke breaks the silence with a soft, cooing sound.

Fugaku half-smiles at him, and reaches down to ruffle his hair.

"Heh. That's my boy."

~oOo~

Itachi follows a step or two behind Kisame, keeping careful eyes on him so he doesn't get lost in the tangled maze of the Hidden Rain. People go quiet as they walk by, speaking in hushed whispers as they pass.

"That's him, isn't it?" One woman whispers to another. "That's God's new apostle?"

"It must be. She said he was Uchiha, didn't she? He's got the crest-"

"Goodness, but he's so young! He can't be any older than Mori-"

"There must be a reason he's here. God does everything for a reason, doesn't he?"

The two women notice Itachi looking at them, and promptly return to whatever they were doing before, and Itachi turns his head away.

"Well, isn't he handsome?" Someone behind him says to their companion.

"He? You mean that isn't a girl?"

"I mean- I don't _think_ that's a girl-"

Itachi must have turned quite red in the face, because Kisame snickers at him.

"So, you _are_ capable of normal human emotions, Itachi-san."

Itachi sighs, but doesn't retort.

"Here's the place."

A little bell tinkles merrily when the door opens; Kisame has to duck his head to get through the entrance. A stout, gray-haired woman emerges from behind mountains of fabric, beaming at the pair of them.

"Kisame-sama! It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

The woman bows deeply at them- Itachi follows Kisame's lead and returns it.

"Yeah. But don't worry about that, Nunako-san- Itachi-san's gonna make sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few years."

Itachi ducks away from Kisame's attempt at a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Oh? Is this your new partner, then?

Nunako looks him over with a razor-sharp gaze.

"Well, aren't you a handsome young man?" She declares, beaming at him. "Well, come on and I'll get you sorted out."

She pulls Itachi by the wrist deeper into the shop, chattering at him all the while.

"It's always so exciting to get new customers in here! Especially one like you- I can't remember the last time we had someone so handsome in this shop. You know, when boys are as handsome as you are, they always seem to look like their mothers, it's the strangest thing-"

Itachi tunes out the rest, while Nunako gathers her things together.

"Alright then-"

Itachi yelps when she suddenly yanks his shirt up over his head with one hand, while the other wraps a measuring tape around his waist.

"So thin," Nunako tsks, shaking her head. "You'd think nobody ever fed you…"

"Eh, I was a scrawny brat at his age, too," Kisame reassures her. "Give him a little time to fill out."

Nunako mumbles something in affirmation, taking measurements of Itachi's arm, and then his neck.

"Goodness, you're smaller than my granddaughter!" She declares, stretching the tape from the small of his back to just above his shoulders. "You're like a little doll!"

Pink dusts his cheeks, but Itachi suppresses the urge to say something uncouth back to her (Mother always told him to be polite, after all).

"That should about do it. Give me an hour or so and we can make sure everything fits like it should."

Itachi mumbles something that vaguely sounds like 'thank-you,' fumbling to get his shirt back on.

"We'll grab something to eat while we're waiting, then," Kisame says, exchanging another bow with the woman. "We'll see you soon, Nunako-san."

They make their way back into the perpetual downpour.

"Well, Itachi-san, I'm in the mood for something sweet; should I show you my favorite tea house?"

To Kisame's surprise, Itachi perks up. Like a puppy smelling meat, his head snaps upward, eyes lighting up in anticipation.

"They have dango, right?"

"Of course they do."

The boy's eyes light up. Though his face doesn't move from that stony expression, an (adorable?) eagerness animates his being, putting a little spring in his step.

_Well, a kid is a kid, mass murderer or not_ , Kisame figures.

Once again, he ducks his head at the entrance of a cozy little building, the warm air thick with the smells of tea and sugar and pastries. Kisame can't help but think the kid is quite cute right now.

"Kisame-sama! Who's your new friend?"

"This is Itachi-san. He and I are gonna be spending a lot of time together from now on. Eh, Itachi-san?"

Itachi shrugs. Kisame brushes that off.

"We're hungry, Chinsuko-san. What do you have today?"

"We've got a fresh batch of dango ready to go on the grill, and I just got done with some umeboshi onigiri. You guys interested?"

There it is again. Itachi's head snaps up, the corners of his mouth twitching upward the smallest fraction- not quite a smile, but close.

Kisame has to laugh.

"I think that sounds good to Itachi-san," he answers. "Let's start with the onigiri and some tea while the dango are cooking."

"Gotcha. Find a seat- I'll have Nori bring them right out to ya!"

Kisame waves Itachi over to his favorite table. A few moments after they're seated, a fresh-faced young man with sandy blonde hair comes over bearing a plate of onigiri for them. As soon as he sets the plate down, Itachi grabs one of the onigiri and takes a big bite out of it.

"Hey, Kisame-sama- weren't you supposed to be gone for another few days?" The boy asks, while he pours them both tea. "You'd said you had a mission somewhere in Rice Country, right?"

"I got finished early," Kisame answers. "So I'm here showing Itachi-san around. He'll be my partner from now on."

"Oh cool. Well, it's great to have you back. And it's great to meet you, Itachi-sama."

The young man bows at Itachi. Still chewing, Itachi nods back at him.

Kisame grabs an onigiri for himself, biting straight through to the sour, salty plum in the center.

For the first time since Kisame met him, Itachi seems like an actual child. A stray grain of rice sticks to his cheek, but he doesn't seem to mind as he goes for another. He takes far too big a bite, stuffing his face full.

"Is it that good, Itachi-san?"

A half-nod.

For a few minutes, a companionable silence passes between them. Kisame decides that, if Itachi were always this cute, it'd be easier to like him.

"Here you go. Dad's trying out a new recipe, so I hope they're good!"

A happy little sound escapes Itachi when he pops the skewer into his mouth.

Nori beams.

"I'll let Dad know Itachi-sama likes them," he laughs. He heads back to the kitchen, leaving them to enjoy their food.

Kisame grabs a skewer of dango for himself- they're pretty much as good as Itachi's reaction suggested.

_Maybe we can get along after all, Itachi-san,_ he thinks, not caring enough to say it out loud.

**~oOo~**

Itachi reaches into the tiny blue bassinet, smiling at his tiny baby brother, wrapped up in his tiny blue blanket.

Sasuke makes a little gurgling sound, grinning toothlessly up at him, wrapping his little hands around Itachi's finger.

"I'm gonna be a ninja," Itachi assures him. "Just wait- I'll be the best ninja our clan's ever had."

His smile fades into a rather somber expression.

"-And I'll always protect you, okay? No matter what. I promise."

"Itachi, honey-"

Mikoto pokes her head in the doorway.

"Kushina is here- you should come say hello!"

Itachi makes sure Sasuke is comfortable where he is, then hurries into the kitchen.

"Kushina-baachan!" He chirps.

"Oh my god, you're getting so big!" Kushina squeals, squishing his cheeks, then hugging him as tightly as her pregnant belly will allow. "You'll be taller than your dad before you know it!"

"Itachi's starting at the academy in the fall," Mikoto remarks, tending to the tea kettle on the stove.

"Oh really? That's so cool! What are you planning to do once you're a ninja?"

Itachi's cheeks turn pink; he shrugs, but doesn't say anything.

"Oh, c'mon! Tell me!"

Itachi squeezes Sasuke a bit tighter for moral support.

"...I wanna be Hokage," he mumbles.

Mikoto lets out a little "oh" of surprise. Kushina's grin grows wider than Itachi thought was possible. She claps her hands in delight.

"Oh, you're so adorable! I can't wait to tell Minato!" She squeals. "Ah, I hope Naruto is half as cute as you!"

She taps Itachi on the nose.

"I'm sure you'll be a great Hokage, Itachi-chan!"

Mikoto shakes her head bemusedly.

"Well, the tea is ready-"

From the next room, Itachi hears the faint, distressed sound of his fussy baby brother.

"-Sounds like Sasuke needs you," Mikoto chuckles.

"Y-yeah…"

As fast as his little legs will take him, Itachi hurries back to the bassinet. Sasuke pouts at him, as if to scold him for leaving, even for a minute.

"I'm sorry, Sasuke," Itachi says, sitting down beside him. "It'd be rude to ignore Baachan."

More fussy baby noises. Itachi pokes Sasuke gently on the forehead.

"You'll get it when you're older."

Sasuke yawns, rubbing at his eyes with chubby little fists. Itachi catches the yawn as well, feeling quite sleepy out of nowhere. He lays down on the rug, deciding to take a nap there with Sasuke.

Sasuke whimpers; Itachi reaches a hand into the bassinet to comfort him.

"It's alright, Sasuke," he reassures his baby brother, while he drifts off. "I'm right here."

**~oOo~**

Itachi feels lost in the heavy fabric of his new Akatsuki cloak- like a little kid playing dress-up in their parents' clothes. But it's blessedly warm- a welcome relief from Ame's chill.

People are still staring and whispering about him, but he tunes that out- he's used to being whispered about, after all. Still, he's glad when they're out of the rain and away from the crowds.

Kisame goes off to do whatever it is that Kisame does with his spare time- and once again, Itachi is alone.

(That's alright, though. Itachi doesn't mind being alone.)

He'd heard Orochimaru mention something about a library to Sasori before. Reading sounds nice, so he decides he wants to check it out-

\- If he can figure out where it is.

The building Akatsuki calls home is huge, to say the least. And quite intimidating. Itachi picks a hallway to start with, and begins his search.

About a half hour later, Itachi finally stumbles on the library, standing with its door half open. Internally complaining about the complicated layout of _everything_ in this village, he pokes his head in.

The only other person in right now is Kakuzu. He doesn't so much as raise his eyes from his book when Itachi walks in and starts perusing the shelves, hoping for something interesting to kill some time.

"The books on the last shelf on the left are mine," Kakuzu cautions him. "If you touch any of them, I'll kill you."

"...I'll keep that in mind," Itachi mumbles.

He finds a title that catches his eye (which is thankfully not a part of Kakuzu's collection), and settles down in a little nook by the window to read it.

It isn't a bad way to spend an afternoon.

 


	4. The First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyy, I'm back! Is everyone sick of me yet? XD

**~oOo~**

"Zabuza, who the hell is that?"

A tiny, skinny child pokes his head out from behind Zabuza's legs, big brown eyes peering fearfully up at Kisame.

(Damn, he looks like he's already about to cry.)

When Zabuza had called Kisame out to their favorite training grounds, he'd expected to get some sparring in- not to be introduced to some stray brat.

"Haku," Zabuza replies, gruffly, grabbing the boy's arm and dragging him out from behind him. "He'll be my apprentice from now on."

The boy fidgets, too scared to so much as make a sound. His eyes flit from Kisame back to Zabuza.

"Haku, you'll listen to Kisame when I'm not around, got it?"

Haku nods, making a small noise in affirmation.

"Where'd you find this punk?" Kisame asks.

"Up in the mountains."

"And you decided to keep him? He's not a puppy, Zabuza."

Zabuza glares at him.

"He'll show you."

Haku kneels down, placing a tiny hand over one of the many puddles that litter the grounds. A layer of ice begins beneath it, spreading outward until the entire thing is frozen over.

Huh.

"Cute trick, but what good is it?"

"I'll find a use for it."

Kisame regards the boy, as he retreats back behind the safety of Zabuza's legs.

"He was gonna die out there," Zabuza grumbles, as if he's trying to justify his actions to himself. "It would've been a waste."

"Well, I suppose what you do with your free time is your business," Kisame shrugs. "But don't expect any of us to look after him."

"I wasn't planning on it."

Kisame glances at the kid one more time.

He's so _small._ So _fragile._ It'll be a miracle if he lasts a week.

**~oOo~**

Kisame is actually rather excited to go on his first mission with his new partner. He's eager to see what the little brat can do- after all, any kid strong enough to off their whole family could probably be trusted to at least keep up with him.

Mission details in hand, he goes to their shared room to tell the kid they're leaving.

When he opens the door, he's greeted by a not unfamiliar sound. Specifically, a moan.

A low, pained moan- the type he'd thought was reserved for the dying. A strangled sound, stained with fear.

(Except- as far as Kisame can tell, at least- Itachi isn't dying.)

The boy is curled into a tiny ball on top of the blanket, his skinny arms wrapped tightly around his pillow. Tiny tremors and twitches run through his body, jerking him around like a marionette gone berserk.

Kisame rolls his eyes, and reaches out to shake the boy awake.

He doesn't get the chance to.

The next thing he knows, he's flat on his back, with the boy's hands around his neck.

(Kisame is smart enough to not look right at those eyes of his.)

Itachi has that ashen, unearthly pallor that Kisame has only ever seen on corpses. Though the boy is shaking, the hands around his throat are steady.

Kisame grins at him (really just baring his teeth). Gingerly, Itachi releases his grip.

"Good nap, Itachi-san?"

"...I said not to touch me."

"Oh, sorry- did I disturb your beauty sleep, Itachi-san?"

Itachi shoots him a dirty look.

"Well, now that you're up and out of bed, you should get ready- we've got a mission to go on."

The boy deigns to sigh at Kisame, and heads to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He fixes his ponytail, and dons his new cloak.

He regards Kisame with a positively bored expression.

"Well? Where are we going?"

"Shimo. We're collecting a bounty for Kakuzu, so it should be quick."

Itachi wrinkles his nose in displeasure.

"Something wrong, Itachi-san?"

"It's cold there," Itachi answers.

"Well, it _is_ the land of _Frost_ , Itachi-san," Kisame chuckles. "Will that be a problem for you?"

"No," Itachi replies, doing his best attempt at a glare with that childish face of his.

"Let's go then, Itachi-san."

* * *

Leaving Amegakure is like stepping out from a giant cage; the heavy clouds part, letting the sun peek through and warm the land beneath it.

"Feels good to get out, eh, Itachi-san?"

No answer. But at this point, Kisame isn't really expecting one.

Itachi's eyes wander upward- toward the flock of crows soaring noisily overhead. That gaze is distant, as if they're looking somewhere beyond this boring dimension.

_Where are you looking with those eyes of yours, Itachi-san?_ Kisame wonders, though he doesn't say it out loud.

Itachi probably wouldn't answer him, anyway.

**~oOo~**

"Well, you're out late, Itachi!"

Shisui is smiling that bright, cheeky, disarming smile of his; Itachi pretends he isn't startled. He hops out of his maple tree perch to join Itachi at the riverbank.

"I just got back from my mission," Itachi replies. "I don't quite feel like going home yet."

"Oh yeah. I forgot about that- how'd it go?" Shisui asks.

"About as I'd expected," Itachi replies, his tone careful and calculated.

"Yeah? The old badger have anything to say about it?"

"Nothing more than the usual."

Shisui's smile fades.

"He creeps me out, Itachi."

"I know."

The night breeze whispering through the leaves, and the soft rushing of the river fill the silence between them. Shisui brushes Itachi's hair out of his face, furrowing his brow at him.

"...Did it happen again?" He asks, his tone becoming grim.

Itachi bites his lip, then nods, once; his hands ball up into white-knuckled fists.

"Itachi-"

The younger boy holds a hand up, cutting off whatever Shisui was about to say.

"I'm fine."

"That's bullshit, Itachi."

Itachi cringes at the profanity.

"You can't just keep letting it happen, Itachi. You don't deserve that."

Itachi turns those big, dark eyes on Shisui, and the older boy feels his heart melt into a puddle of helpless mush.

"Hey, what's with that look?" He asks, forcing a smile to try and lighten the mood.

"What look?"

" _That_ look."

Itachi pushes Shisui away.

"You've lost your mind."

"Hey! Don't be rude!"

Shisui pushes Itachi back. Itachi shoves him, Shisui grabs him, they slip in the mud and go tumbling down together. Itachi lands flat on his back; Shisui lands on top of him.

"Ow!" Itachi cries.

"Fuck!" Shisui mutters.

Shisui props himself up on his elbows, mumbling an apology. His hand brushes against Itachi's, causing the younger boy's face to turn bright pink.

"Shisui-nii..."

Two pairs of dark eyes meet briefly, before Itachi turns his away.

"Hey..."

As if beyond his own control, Shisui dips his head down, brushing his lips briefly against Itachi's, the same way their hands had brushed together.

"What are you-"

"Shh."

Shisui takes Itachi's hands in his, then leans in to kiss him properly.

Itachi turns a very startling shade of red, and lets out a surprisingly high-pitched squeak.

"...Sorry," Shisui mumbles. "I just...I had to try it, y'know?"

Shisui flops to the side, pulling away from Itachi.

"...Was it bad?"

"N-no! Shisui-nii, it's not like that-"

Itachi pushes himself upright, still bright red in the cheeks. He wraps skinny arms around skinny legs, hugging them against his chest.

"I just- I didn't know you felt that way. That's all."

"I'm sorry, 'Tachi. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I-I'm not upset!"

Itachi shakes his head, trying to gain some clarity.

"Shisui-nii, you know it can't work."

"Who says?!" Shisui feels childish saying it, but he can't stop himself.

"It'd have to be kept a secret, and we can't go sneaking around forever, Shisui-nii."

"We already do, Itachi."

"Not like _that_ though!"

"Is it because if Izumi?"

"I- no! I don't- I mean-"

"Tachi, stop panicking."

"I am not-"

Gently, Shisui kisses Itachi's cheek.

"I'm sorry, 'Tachi. It was stupid of me."

"No. It's not like that. I just-"

Nervously, Itachi leans against him. He hides his face in his hands to try and hide his shame.

"...I'm scared."

Shisui wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close.

"It's alright, 'Tachi. I've got you."

He nuzzles against the juncture between Itachi's neck and shoulder, and they sit in the warm dark, at the bank of the Nagano river.

Itachi hugs Shisui tightly, trying valiantly not to cry. But, when he fails, Shisui doesn't say anything. Shisui doesn't judge him, or call him weak, or give him that pitying look he so often sees on his mother.

Shisui is just _there._ And that makes it alright.

 


	5. Land of Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that segment at the beginning is a little bit inspired by Steven Universe- the thing Pearl does where she involuntarily covers her mouth because of Pink Diamond's orders. In case anyone was curious. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy :)

**~oOo~**

“Everything is set in place, then?”

Shimura Danzo regards the boy kneeling before him with a cold indifference. Itachi keeps his eyes fixed on the floor, not wanting to look up at that hawkish gaze.

“...Yes. Everything will be settled tomorrow night.”

“Good boy.”

(Itachi shudders at the words.)

Danzo kneels down to Itachi’s level, hooking a finger under his chin, forcing Itachi’s head up. A shiver runs up Itachi’s spine, and he wants nothing more than to squirm away from the man.

“You don’t need to look so sad, Itachi. It’ll be over soon.”

Itachi bites his lip, swallowing the words he so desperately wants to say.

“You’ve made the right choice, Itachi. There’ll be no war- no more of this needless tension threatening to tear this village apart. And it’ll all be because of your bravery.”

_ Bravery? Is that what you want to call it? _

Itachi certainly doesn’t  _ feel  _ brave, choking back a desire to scream that he just  _ can’t fucking do it, pick someone else, there has to be another way! _

“Now, there’s just one last thing that needs to be sorted out before tomorrow.”

Danzo forms a seal; a soft glow starts at his fingers, reaching out to envelop his entire arm.

“Nobody else can ever know. You understand that, right?”

Itachi nods, watching the man with wide, frightened eyes.

“Good boy.”

Danzo takes Itachi’s hand in his. His chakra sends sparks of electricity up Itachi’s arm.

“Then, for my last order to you, as a shinobi of the Hidden Leaf-”

Danzo lays Itachi’s hand over his mouth, his one eye boring straight through Itachi’s soul.

“-You are never to speak of this again.”

Itachi’s sudden cry of pain is muffled by his own hand. The eerie glow creeps from Danzo to Itachi, sinking into his pale skin like some awful ooze. 

It  _ burns  _ like someone is holding a red-hot branding iron against him. Burns like lightning against his skin, like a million knives through his hand.

Then, the briefest flash of blue, and the glow is gone, and the agony with it.

Itachi’s body goes limp; he collapses into a whimpering heap on the cold floor.

A black seal emerges briefly on the back of his hand, before fading away into the pale flesh. 

Itachi’s eyes burn, and it’s not from the Sharingan. He closes them tightly; Danzo steps over his trembling body to leave the room.

“...I wouldn’t have told anyone,” Itachi whispers.

“I know that,” Danzo replies. “But you can never be too careful.”

He casts one last, cold glance at the boy over his shoulder.

“Be grateful. For Sasuke’s sake, you’d better be sure the secret stays safe.”

Itachi hears the heavy door slam shut.

White-hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall.

The floor is dirty, and it’s cold. But he doesn’t get up for a long time.

**~oOo~**

“Itachi-san, are you still with me?”

Itachi shakes his head, jostling himself out of his daydream.

“It’s surprising you’re still alive, with your head up in the clouds all the time,” Kisame teases.

The corners of Itachi’s mouth pull downward ever-so-slightly.

“Something on your mind?” Kisame asks.

“No,” Itachi lies.

He fixes his eyes on the path ahead, drawing his cloak tighter around himself.

(He’s never liked the cold.)

A few stray flurries of snow begin to fall around them. Itachi internally wills them away; he curses inwardly when they multiply and start falling harder.

“Heh. Almost reminds me of home,” Kisame remarks. “It’s always snowing up in the mountains there.”

There’s a note of something in Kisame’s rough voice- nostalgia, maybe?

“Of course, it’s usually warm where you’re from, right, Itachi-san? I should’ve expected you wouldn’t like it cold.”

“Hmm.”

Itachi is only really half paying attention; the way this man talks reminds him of the way Shisui would talk just to fill the silence, and that’s making him a little uneasy. 

(But at the same time, it’s kind of nice to not be alone.)

They walk until well after dark, with Kisame talking the whole way, about everything and nothing in particular. The snow grows heavier with each passing minute, and Itachi starts to curse inwardly.

(His feet are numb. He thinks his nose might fall off. The wind is loud and bites at his ears. He misses the sun.)

They reach a small, barely-inhabited village, and decide they’ve frozen enough for one day.

They hole up in a ramshackle inn to get out of the snow, but by that point they’re already soaked to the skin; Itachi can’t repress his shivering.

(Of course, bad luck is Itachi’s closest friend, and the shower in their room is broken.)

He wants to punch the wall, but he’s sure the flimsy, rotting would couldn’t take the blow. So he refrains, merely glaring at the peeling paint with a look that could send men running for fear, while he changes into dry clothes.

Kisame orders them food from some place across the road, but Itachi isn’t really hungry- even if the food  _ does  _ smell good. So, while his new partner eats, Itachi unfurls one of the slightly musty futons, and lays down.

(He can feel a headache building up right behind his eyes; he hopes he can sleep it off before it gets too bad.)

“You sure you don’t wanna eat, Itachi-san?”

Itachi answers with a small, dismissive sound.

“Suit yourself- but it’s not really healthy to just eat sweets and onigiri all the time, y’know. You’re gonna be a runt forever if you keep that up.”

Itachi wants to answer with some snide remark-  _ you’re not my father,  _ maybe. Or, some variant of  _ just shut the fuck up.  _ But he bites his tongue.

He pulls the old, poorly-maintained blanket tighter around himself, and curls up tightly.

_ If I sleep, I’ll feel better,  _ he lies to himself.  _ It’ll be better tomorrow...  _

Kisame lays awake, listening to the mournful howling of the wind outside; the cold seeps through the thin walls of their room.

The clock on the wall reads half past midnight.

He’s pretty sure Itachi is asleep on the other side of the cramped room; the ceiling creaks as someone moves on the floor above them. 

A sound comes from the lump of blanket on the other side of the room. A tiny, fearful sound that makes the hairs on the back of Kisame’s neck stand up.

Itachi shifts under the blanket, and whimpers. A half-coherent string of babbling slips from his lips. 

Kisame makes out a few words- mostly pleas for his mother. He might think it pathetic, were it not so utterly pitiful.

(He remembers Zabuza complaining that his rescued brat talked a lot in his sleep. Maybe it was just a thing that sad, dark-eyed kids have in common.)

With a sharp gasp, Itachi jerks upright, drenched in sweat, eyes wide, Sharingan luminescent in the darkness.

The boy’s scarlet eyes dart around the tiny room, his skinny chest heaving with shallow, panicked breaths. Kisame watches him out of the corner of his eye, but doesn’t say anything to him.

With another one of those pitiful noises, Itachi sinks back onto his pillow, pulling his blanket tightly around himself. He’s still shaking badly; though whether from cold or fear, Kisame can’t tell, but it stirs something inside him.

(He’s not sure what this feeling is, and he isn’t sure he likes it.)

He pulls off his own blanket, and throws it over Itachi. The boy makes a small sound of surprise. Red eyes peer over at him, pale brow furrowed.

“Go back to sleep, alright? We need to get an early start tomorrow.”

“...Won’t you be-”

“I’m fine, Itachi-san. A little cold never bothered me.”

Itachi blinks. Turns his head. Sighs a little.

“...Thank you.”

Kisame shrugs, though Itachi can’t see it, and lays back down. 

The wind is still howling outside, low and foreboding. Snow still whites out the one tiny window in the room. The biting chill still leaks through the flimsy walls.

...so why does Kisame feel so warm?

**~oOo~**

Kisame’s first impression of Momochi Zabuza is an interesting one, to say the least.

He’s three years younger than Kisame- half a foot shorter, and maybe fifty pounds lighter.

Oh, but he’s not a lightweight when it comes to killing.

Kisame already knows as well as anyone in this village, what that boy is capable of doing with a blade. After all, that’s the entire reason he’s here, in the main mission building, standing before Kisame, the newest member of the Mist’s Seven Swordsmen.

“I don’t have time to be babysitting, so I hope you can keep up with me,” Kisame informs him, watching carefully for his reaction.

Zabuza crosses his wiry arms, glaring at Kisame.

“Keep acting like a condescending prick, and I’ll make you eat that sword of yours,” he growls. 

Kisame grins.

“You’ve got a pair of balls, I’ll give you that.”

Zabuza scoffs.

“I just hope you can keep up with me,” he sneers.

“Let’s see how long that pride of yours lasts once we get to fight,” Kisame rebukes. 

“Careful- I might just be the last fight you ever have.”

The conversation seems to be getting a bit too intense for eavesdropping passersby- a couple secretaries and a few low-level ninja scurry to get away from them. 

Kisame’s smile turns into something a bit more genuine than just bearing teeth. 

“Well, let’s try to get along, eh? It’d be a shame if we wound up being each other’s last opponent.”

Zabuza murmurs something Kisame decides to take as acknowledgement.

**~oOo~**

The wind and snow have both ceased by the time Kisame wakes up. He lets out a great yawn, scratches his shoulder, and rolls over in a manner quite reminiscent of a lazy cat.

Itachi is also awake- from the looks of things, he’s been awake for a good while already. His futon is neatly folded and tucked in the corner; the boy sits cross-legged on the floor, fully dressed, absentmindedly brushing his hair.

Itachi gestures with his head, toward two bowls of miso on a tray.

“Heh- you’re an early riser, Itachi-san.”

“You said you wanted an early start,” Itachi replies.

Kisame shrugs in admission, snagging one of the bowls of miso, eating it while going over the details of their assignment. Itachi seems more interested in brushing his hair than eating.

(Kisame is beginning to wonder if Itachi is actually a human being, with how little food he gets by on. No wonder he’s so tiny.)

“Heh. Looks like Leader-sama has a personal beef with this guy,” Kisame remarks. “I guess it’s not just Kakuzu-san who’s gonna be glad to see him gone.”

“Hm.”

Itachi sets down the hairbrush, gathers his hair up behind his head, and ties it back. He does this little toss of his head when he’s finished that oddly reminds Kisame of a bird in a bath. 

“Is he very far from here?”

“He’s supposed to be showing up right around dawn, so we won’t have long to wait. He thinks we’re here to talk business with him.”

“Business?”

“From the looks of things, this guy used to supply weapons for the old Akatsuki- back when Hanzo was still around. But he’s a crook, and his weapons turned out to be shit- and Leader-sama’s not the only person he’s ripped off. Look at this-”

He turns the paper around so Itachi can read it, too.

“His shoddy weapons ‘business’ has him wanted in all five of the Great Villages.”

Itachi’s dark eyes widen the smallest fraction. 

“We used his weapons when I was in ANBU,” he says. “They got half my squad killed on an important mission.”

“Is that so, Itachi-san?”

(Is Itachi actually scowling?)

“Does that piss you off, Itachi-san?”

(Yeah. He’s definitely scowling.)

“I certainly don’t begrudge Leader-sama for wanting him gone.”

Ooh. So the kid’s got a fire in his belly, after all.

“Well then, Itachi-san, let’s get him out of the way, shall we?”

Itachi nods. 

(Well then. The kid might turn out to be interesting, after all.)

  
  



	6. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisame and Itachi take out their first target together. We're also treated to more memories of their lives before Akatsuki

**~oOo~**

“How many times I gotta tell you to piss off?!”

Mangetsu grabs his bratty little brother by the scruff of the neck, lifting him clean off the ground and glowering at him.

“I can’t have you sneaking around while I’m trying to go on missions- I’ve fuckin’ told you a thousand times already!”

“I wouldn’t get in the way!” Suigetsu protests adamantly. 

“Like hell you wouldn’t!”

Kisame has to laugh- he can always count on Mangetsu’s kid brother to brighten his day.

Mangetsu drops Suigetsu to the ground.

“Now buzz off, or I swear I’m selling you to an aquarium!”

“Like you’d dare!” 

“Try me, you little twerp!”

Suigetsu opens his mouth to object some more, but a dirty look from Juzo finally sends him scampering off.

“Fucking hell, what a pain in the neck!” Mangetsu declares, looking thoroughly put upon.

“He sure is a character,” Kisame chuckles. “Maybe we  _ should  _ let him tag along with us, someday. He might keep Haku a little company.”

Zabuza glares at Kisame.

“Haku doesn't need that kind of company.”

“What’s wrong with my brother?!” Mangetsu demands, suddenly defensive.

Zabuza doesn't indulge him with an answer.

“I wouldn’t mind-”

Haku trails off, silenced under Zabuza’s withering glare.

“Can we just get going already?!” Kushimaru demands, arms crossed in an impetuous way.

“Keep yer panties on,” Mangetsu grumbles. “We’re going, we’re going!”

“What’s wrong with panties?” Ameyuri demands.

“Nothing, nothing- just-”

Mangetsu knows better than to challenge that dangerous look Ameyuri is giving him, so shuts his mouth.

“Smart boy,” Juzo remarks, the barest hint of a playful smile on his face.

(Or, rather- as close to playful as someone as serious as Juzo can get.)

“We should really get going now, though. Don’t want people getting impatient with us,” Kisame advises.

Still bantering and bickering, they depart the village.

**~oOo~**

Kisame can’t be sure, but he’s at the very least wondering if Itachi is angry right now.

Though he doesn't say a word, and his face is as stony as Kisame has come to expect, the anxious drumming of Itachi’s fingers against his arm give him away.

The man in front of them has a sleazy sort of grin on his face, his greasy hair tied back in a tight ponytail. He’s got the sort of face that Kisame desperately would like to punch.

“I was wondering if you guys would actually show up,” the man says, his voice as oily as his hair.

(with that scraggly ponytail and those prominent front teeth, he looks everything in the world like a rat.)

“You’re lucky we did, considering how out of the way this place is,” Kisame remarks, stretching his mouth in a manner that only the most hopeless optimist would call smiling.

“Well, if you can believe it, I’m not a very well-loved man,”the man says, in an exaggeratedly wounded tone. “I have to keep out of the way to do my work.”

“I can imagine,” Itachi says, in a tone that chills Kisame’s blood.

(Yep, Itachi is pissed. There's no doubt anymore.)

The man doesn't catch the danger, and merely starts laying rolls of weapons on the ground.

“Now, it’s been a long time since I’ve sold to Akatsuki, but I think I’ve got just the sort of stuff you guys need-”

The man starts rambling on about the various weapons, boasting about their quality. “The best weapons!” he says. “Simply top-notch!”

While he’s babbling on, showing the weapons off, Itachi bends down and picks up one of the kunai. He runs his finger down the blade- Kisame notes how the pad of Itachi’s fingertip bends, but the dull metal doesn't cut him. He turns it over in his hand, then the corners of his mouth twitch downward in some approximation of a frown.

(The man doesn't catch this. Kisame does.)

With very little effort, Itachi snaps the handle clean off from the blade, and the slimy rat of a man suddenly goes very pale.

“You’ve gotten a lot of good men killed with these,” Itachi says, darkly.

The man fakes a smile.

"I assure you I don't know what you're talking about."

"Konoha ANBU, fifteenth division, border guard. Twenty men died due to weapons malfunction. _Your_ weapons. Good men, every one of them."

The man’s forced smile turns almost feral.

“Heh. You’d know a lot about killing good men, wouldn’t you, brat?”

Apparently, that was a  _ very  _ poor choice of words.

Itachi’s eyes narrow, turning scarlet as he casts the ruined weapon aside.

The man opens his mouth to taunt Itachi some more, but he never gets the chance. He falls forward, foam replacing the useless words spewing out of his mouth, scrawny limbs jerking wildly.  


“...Noisy,” Itachi huffs, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face.

“Don’t you think that was a little much, Itachi-san?”

Itachi shrugs his thin shoulders dismissively.

“Kakuzu said he needed to be alive to cash in on the bounty. He said nothing about alive  _ and well _ .”

Kisame lets out a surprised chortle.

_ So, the runt’s got some fire in his belly, after all. _

Kisame slings the man’s (now blessedly silent) form over his shoulder, suddenly feeling quite merry.

“I suppose we’d best be off then, Itachi-san. We can drop this guy off and be on our way before noon.”

“Hm.”

As they walk off, Itachi’s gaze wanders upward, toward the blue which chases away the pink and red of sunrise. The silhouettes of a handful of wandering birds dot the horizon, becoming ever smaller as they seek the distant horizon.

“What are you looking at, Itachi-san?”

There’s no answer, but Kisame is learning that he shouldn’t really expect one; he does it to break the silence, more than anything.

A part of him sort of wishes Itachi talked more. But something tells him he shouldn’t hold his breath waiting.

**~oOo~**

“You’re leaving already? But you just got back!”

Sasuke pouts petulantly, one little hand fisted in the back of Itachi’s shirt.

“I got called up for another mission. I can’t help it,” Itachi answers, feeling a sharp pang of guilt when tears well up in Sasuke’s eyes.

“But you said you were gonna show me that new jutsu you learned! You promised!”

“It’ll have to wait until later.”

“Niisan, you’re such a big fat liar,” Sasuke whines.

Itachi sighs. Mustering up the best smile he can, he taps Sasuke on the forehead.

“I’m sorry, Sasuke. Some other time, okay?”

Sasuke scowls at him.

“If you keep making that face it’s gonna get stuck like that,” Itachi scolds, albeit in a lighthearted way.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Their mother gives him a hug and a packed bento on his way out the door.

“Be careful, honey!”

“I will, don’t worry.”

The look on her face is the same look she always has when he leaves- she clearly isn’t able to take his advice to not worry over him.

“It won’t even be a whole day, Mom. I’ll be alright.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Itachi turns his back to her before he frowns.

(He hates making his mother worry like this.)

Izumi is waiting for him outside the house. Her hopeful expression fades when she sees him in uniform.

Itachi tilts his head- a silent question.

“...I was just hoping we could hang out today. But I guess you gotta work, huh?”

(She’s trying oh-so-hard to sound cheerful, and it breaks Itachi’s heart.)

“I won’t be long. I’ll be back by noon tomorrow, at the latest.”

Izumi nods in understanding.

“Well, we can spend some time together then!” she chirps. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, and grins at him.

“Be safe! I’ll be waiting for you!”

Itachi feels his cheeks grow warm.

“...Yeah. I look forward to it,” he mumbles.

In minutes, Konohagakure is behind him. He tries to hold on to these happy feelings, to sustain his heart while he’s away.

**~oOo~**


	7. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MASSIVE self harm/suicide trigger warning. Please proceed with caution.

* * *

After about a year of being partners with Itachi, it occurs to Kisame that he’s starting to like this kid Leader decided to saddle him with.

It isn’t so bad, having Itachi alongside him while they go on their various missions together. Even if the boy is silent as the grave most of the time, Kisame finds himself not really minding the silence. After all- he gets the job done, and it’s better than having some annoying chatterbox runt babbling next to him all the time.

It also occurs to him though, at around the same time, that he doesn't really know anything about Itachi at all.

It’s late at night when the realization hits him. He and Itachi are somewhere in Lightning Country, chasing after some intel Leader said was important. They’re out in the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where, where the only good thing going is that there’s not some wild animal currently taking up residence in the cave they’ve decided to hole up in for the night.

The rain outside comes down in sheets, making the weather in Amegakure seem practically idyllic by comparison. They’ve shed their soaking wet cloaks, waiting out the storm in a modicum of safety.

The fire Itachi is huddled before banishes the chill from outside, and casts the cave in an eerie reddish glow. Flames dance in the depths of those eerie black eyes, its light turning pale skin golden. He seems transfixed, staring as the fire burns. 

“Seems like we’re stuck here for a good while, Itachi-san,” Kisame mutters, when the crackling fire starts to become deafening. 

“Hm.”

Itachi doesn't so much as turn those dead eyes away from the flames.

He always does that- whether it’s the feeble light of a lonely candle, or the bonfire they’d lit to get rid of a body, Itachi’s eyes are always drawn toward it, like flowers toward the sun.

Kisame wants to ask him what he’s looking for within the fire- but he has a feeling Itachi wouldn’t answer him.

A draft cuts through their shelter; the way the fire shivers is mirrored by the boy. He wraps his arms around himself with a sound of annoyed discomfort.

Kisame chuckles.

(Like a cat, that one is. Can’t stand to be cold for even a second.)

Leaning against the cave’s dreary stone walls, Kisame rests his feet on Samehada and starts rifling through his weapons pouch until he retrieves the whetstone he’d been looking for. 

The fire’s gentle crackling is drowned out by the harsh sound of metal being dragged across stone, while Kisame sharpens the kunai in his weapons pouch to a razor’s edge. The familiar ritual lulls him into a calm, almost drowsy state; he finds himself humming tunelessly, to the beat of kunai on whetstone.

The repetitive sound, and the low roll of thunder outside seem to soothe Itachi, as well; his eyes flutter shut, snap back open, then flutter shut again as he fights against sleep.

“You don’t have to stay awake if you’re tired,” Kisame tells him. 

“Don’t want to sleep, either,” Itachi mumbles.

Kisame opens his mouth to ask  _ why not?  _ But closes it again.

He already knows. It’s the nightmares.

In the year or so they’ve been together, he doesn't think the kid has had a full night’s sleep. Inevitably, the moaning will start, and, after tossing around for awhile, Itachi will jerk awake, a sheen of cold sweat on his forehead, shivering like he’s freezing to death. It normally takes him hours to calm himself enough to find some semblance of rest once more.

Kisame pretends not to notice- it’s easier to fake that he’s still asleep, than to potentially wound Itachi’s fragile pride by asking if he’s alright.

He wants to ask Itachi about whatever monsters haunt his dreams- but, again, he’s doubtful he’d receive an answer.

(He pretends he doesn't notice- but he worries, just a little bit. It can’t be healthy for someone as young as Itachi to sleep as little as he does.)

Finished with the whetstone, Kisame clears everything away, his limbs heavy, his head foggy and drowsy. He reaches up to drag his headband off, tossing it carelessly toward the rest of their belongings.

“I think I’ll turn in, Itachi-san. You should try to sleep a bit too- I don’t think anyone’s gonna come looking for us in this weather.”

Itachi nods once, still staring into the fire like it holds the secrets of the Universe within it.

Despite this cave being possibly the most uncomfortable place Kisame has slept in (and that’s saying a lot), and despite the myriad questions swirling in his mind, it doesn't take him long to nod off.

(He dreams about fire- and about those haunting, haunted, black _ black _ eyes that watch it as it dances.)

* * *

 

Kisame jolts awake without warning, an uneasy feeling in his gut. 

The fire has died down to embers; Kisame blinks while his eyes adjust to the darkness.

A low, pained moan bounces off the cave walls. 

“Itachi-san?”

The boy is curled into a miserable ball, cradling his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

Itachi only manages a whimper in response.

Kisame reaches out to move the boy’s hands away- Itachi’s skin is nearly hot enough to burn, damp with sweat, his face flushed.

“You’ve got a fever.”

(He feels stupid saying the obvious.)

A dry, ragged cough tears from the boy’s chest, hoarse and horrid-sounding.

Kisame doesn't insult the boy by asking if he’s alright. He wordlessly unscrews the cap of his water bottle and forces it into Itachi’s trembling hands.

Itachi chokes down a few mouthfuls, then takes in a few great gasps of air.

“Better?”

The corners of Itachi’s mouth pull downwards

“I’ll be fine.”

Kisame doesn't really believe it; Itachi looks pale, even by the dim remnants of the fire, and his skin is still burning to the touch.

(Leave it to the brat to catch a cold on a mission.)

Itachi shudders like he’s freezing to death, despite radiating heat like a furnace. Kisame grabs his now mostly-dry cloak and drapes it over the boy’s skinny shoulders.

“You definitely need to sleep.”

“I said I don’t want to,” Itachi protests, impetuously. 

“But you need to. You’re gonna be useless if you’re trying to work sick.”

(He probably sounds stupid- some big blue freak trying to play father to a sick little boy.)

Itachi grumbles something Kisame can’t hear. Kisame sighs in defeat.

“Listen- I’ll wake you up if you start having nightmares. Will that help?”

Dark eyes grow wide, anxious. His head bows to hide the shame coloring his face.

He feels stupid. He has no idea how to be gentle or how to comfort. But at the same time- Itachi sort of needs that right now.

(Itachi is making him do all sorts of weird things, these days.)

“Go to sleep,” Kisame urges, pushing Itachi to lay down- as softly as he can manage with his large, calloused hands. “I’ve got you.”

Itachi gives him a dirty look, but eventually those dark eyes close, hands curled tightly around his cloak. His bangs fall in front of his face like a spill of black ink. Kisame flops down beside him, feeling like an awkward blue lump next to this little doll of a child.

The rain still doesn't show any sign of letting up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches something he hasn’t noticed before.

Even in the dim light, it stands out, stark against Itachi’s skin. Like a streak of white clouds, tracing a path along Itachi’s veins.

He knows he probably shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself.

“Where’d you get a scar like that, Itachi-san?”

Itachi peers up at him through his hair. Kisame wonders, for a moment, if the boy will just tell him to shut up and mind his own business.

A sigh turns into another harsh cough. Itachi draws his hands together, then turns them over, exposing the twin scar on his other wrist.

“Nobody really wants to die,” he says, his tone frank. “I found that out for myself.”

Absentmindedly, Itachi traces a finger up one of the massive scars, from the base of his palm to the crook of his elbow.

Kisame feels a twinge of something he can’t identify tug at his insides.

It isn’t like he’s a stranger to death. Or to people offing themselves. But, somehow, picturing this quiet little doll boy slashing his own wrists stirs something within him.

(Pity, he’ll realize, later on. That feeling is pity.)

**~oOo~**

Itachi wishes- oh how he wishes- that he could run far, far away from Shisui’s funeral.

Morikawa-bachan wails in despair, falling to her knees beside her son’s coffin. The waterlogged, half-rotted corpse has been dolled up as best as it can, but nothing the mortician could do could recapture the handsome features that had once been Uchiha Shisui.

Bile rises up in Itachi’s throat, but he hasn’t eaten in days, and he has nothing left to vomit.

Sasuke’s little brow is furrowed in confused sorrow. He glances over at Itachi, hoping for reassurance that Itachi can never give.

Fugaku approaches Shisui’s corpse, performing a few hand seals with a somber expression. When he touches the rim of the coffin, the entire thing bursts into flames, consuming the ebony and the pile of rotting meat that had once been Itachi’s dearest friend. 

Morikawa screams in anguish, doubling over like she’s just been stabbed in the gut. Itachi closes his eyes. Sasuke has begun to cry, reaching out to hug their mother.

(Itachi wishes he could cry. But he has no tears left to shed.)

“You killed him!”

Before Itachi can process what’s happening, Aunt Morikawa has him by the front of his kimono, shaking him so violently his neck might just snap.

Her eyes are wide with rage, with an unhinged, manic gleam to them. Her face is wet with bloody tears, her teeth bared at him as she spits her angry words.

“You killed my boy! You killed him!” She shrieks. “You killed im! He  _ loved  _ you and  _ you killed him _ !”

“Niisan didn’t kill anybody!” Sasuke interjects, trying vainly to tug her off his beloved older brother. But Morikawa doesn't so much as flinch.

“He  _ loved  _ you- he loved a fucking monster like you-you can’t even cry about it!”

“Neesan, that’s enough!”

Fugaku shoves his sister off his eldest son, his expression still carefully composed.

“Itachi didn’t kill Shisui,” he says, firmly, putting a hand on Itachi’s shoulder to guide him away. 

Morikawa growls like the most dangerous sort of wild animal. Sasuke scampers to join Itachi behind their mother.

“Of course you’d defend your monster!”

“Stop it right now!” Mikoto demands, pushing Itachi behind her, shielding him from both Morikawa’s anger, and the gathering of worried stares. “Leave my son out of this!”

Fugaku doesn't take his eyes off his sister.

“Mikoto, take them home.”

“You’ll pay!” Morikawa hisses at Itachi’s back. “You’ll suffer for what you did to my boy!”

Itachi shuts his eyes, wanting to block out the hurt inside of him. Mikoto hurries her two boys back to their home, away from prying eyes.

“Niisan-”

Sasuke tugs at Itachi’s sleeve. The deep furrow in his brow has grown deeper still.

“Niisan, you didn’t kill Shisu-nii, did you?” He whimpers.

Itachi’s heart clenches painfully. 

“Tell me it’s a lie, Niisan-”

Itachi opens his mouth, but all he can manage is a feeble croak.

(Useless. He’s so useless he can’t even speak.)

Mother looks worriedly at him, wringing her hands in that way she always does when she’s anxious.

That look on Sasuke’s face grows into one of fierce determination.

“Well, I  _ know  _ you didn’t do it, Niisan!”

Itachi’s gut twists itself into a knot.

“I don’t care what everyone says about you!  _ My  _ big brother would never do anything like that! I’m sure of it!”

Itachi sighs.

“...I’m gonna take a bath,” he mutters, walking past Sasuke like he was a ghost.

~oOo~

  
  
  
  



	8. Degrees of separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MASSIVE self-harm/suicide trigger warning again. Please proceed with extra caution.

The first thing Kisame notices when he wakes back up, is an overwhelming, oppressive heat. 

He groans in discomfort, a thought somewhere along the lines of  _ what the fuck  _ running through his head.

The second thing he notices, is that Itachi has curled up under his arm sometime during the night.

Another thought, also along the lines of  _ what the fuck  _ pops into his head.

He moves to push Itachi away from him, to demand to know what the fuck he was thinking, treating him like some overgrown stuffed animal. 

But he stops, halfway through the motion.

The deep lines of exhaustion under Itachi’s eyes have loosened their hold, the tension gone from his fever-flushed face. His thumb rests millimeters from the corner of his half-open mouth, truly childish and surprisingly peaceful.

Kisame doesn't have it in him to disturb the boy.

Even though he’s starting to wonder if he might melt from the heat Itachi is radiating, he stays put.

Beyond the dingy cave, the rain has at last died down to a drizzle; the sun dares to peek through the clouds, like a shy maiden from behind her fan. Birds chirp a merry little tune, the fresh smell of after-rain penetrating through the musty cave air.

After a few more minutes, Itachi stirs, moaning softly. Long eyelashes flutter, then lift.

Itachi’s eyes grow wide, and he lets out a sound that Kisame can only describe as a squeak. He scrambles as far away from Kisame as he can, mumbling rapid-fire apologies his companion can’t discern.

Kisame can’t help but laugh.

“Good morning to you too, Itachi-san.”

Itachi blinks about a dozen times, realizing that Kisame isn’t angry at him. He turns his head away, falling silent once more.

“Well, since you’re awake, we should get going- the storm’s finally over.”

The boy nods, drawing his cloak around himself and fumbling with the buttons. Kisame finds it amusing- he’s never seen a look like that on Itachi’s face before.

His amusement can’t last, however- a wet, hacking sort of cough rips its way from Itachi’s lungs, spoiling the lighthearted mood.

“You gonna be alright?”

Itachi glares at Kisame like the question is insulting. Kisame raises his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Alright, Itachi-san. I was just making sure.”

Head high, still annoyed, Itachi is the first to leave their shelter. Kisame follows behind him. 

An unusually large crow glides down from its perch, landing at Itachi’s feet. It cocks its head, looking up at Itachi expectantly. Itachi cocks his head back. 

Ruffling its feathers, the bird makes an impatient croaking sound. When Itachi doesn't move, it hops forward, nipping at the rim of Itachi’s sandal with its frighteningly sharp beak.

Itachi’s lips tilt upward the smallest fraction; he reaches into his cloak, rummaging around in one of the many pockets sewn into the lining.

“What are you doing, Itachi-san?”

Wordlessly answering him, Itachi pulls out some frosted pastry thing, wrapped up in paper.

_ Eh? _

Itachi unwraps the paper, breaking off a piece of the flaky pastry. The crow bounces in excitement, cawing eagerly. 

The boy crouches down, offering a palmful of crumbled pastry. The bird devours the food it’s offered, head bobbing happily as it eats. When his palm is empty, the crow shoves its head against it, demanding.

Itachi strokes the bird’s glossy black feathers, humming in a happy sort of way Kisame usually heard him do when eating some particularly sweet candy.

Out of seemingly nowhere, five more crows join the first, chattering and pushing each other aside to get Itachi’s attention. Itachi is smiling properly now, breaking off more pastry to feed the needy birds.

“Having fun, Itachi-san?” Kisame teases.

The small sound that Itachi makes might be a laugh, though it turns into a cough halfway through.

He turns his hands over, palms out, to indicate to the birds that he’s out of food.  They flit around him for a moment, nipping at the boy’s hair and fingers, before taking off once again.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Itachi-san- wasn’t that your breakfast you just gave them?”

Itachi shrugs, indicating that he doesn't care.

“Well, we really should get going; we’ve gotta meet up and get some intel from Sasori-san and Orochimaru-san. You know how impatient Sasori-san gets when you keep him waiting.”

“Hm.”

~oOo~

Hurts. It  _ hurts. _

Itachi’s world has narrowed down to pain, sharp and biting, as he steadily digs a wickedly sharp kunai deeper into his wrist.

Deeper. Deeper. He’s pretty sure he’s sliced a vein open now- dark red blood flows freely from the deep wound he’s created. He chews on his bottom lip until that’s bleeding as well, to keep from crying out.

_ I’m so sorry, Shisui- I’m just not strong enough- _

He repeats the motions on the other wrist- it’s harder this time around. He feels himself growing ever so slightly dizzy as he starts to bleed out.

But he has to do it. He can’t face this, can’t face what he  _ knows  _ he’ll have to do if he keeps on living. Can’t bear to think of his mother’s broken heart, of the look of stunned betrayal he knows he’ll see on his father’s face.

It’s better this way. Or, if it isn’t better, he won’t be around to have to bear it. 

His pillow and blankets are soaked with blood. His head is going foggy.  _ I’m sure it won’t take much longer. _

Someone is knocking at his door. 

“Niisan!”

Itachi’s heart sinks.

_ Go away, Sasuke,  _ he pleads in his mind.  _ Just go away, it won’t take me much longer. _

It  _ hurts.  _ It  _ hurts  _ and he deserves the pain.

“Niisan, let me in!”

_ Sasuke please, leave me alone- _

After a few moments, to Itachi’s relief, he can hear Sasuke’s disappointed footsteps retreating.

It’s hard to hold the kunai know; he lets it fall somewhere off the edge of the bed. Lets his tired body fall onto the mattress.

All that’s left now is to wait.

It’s sickeningly fascinating, watching himself bleed. Watching that red fluid which stubbornly kept him alive leaving him. Staining the white sheets, the blue covers.

His bedroom is wobbling around him now, the colors becoming faded, and strange. 

He thinks he can hear Shisui, now. It’s sick, but it makes him smile.

_ I’ll be there soon. Please wait for me. _

_ I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger. _

Consciousness fades in and out, like the waves at the ocean’s edge. Ebbing away slowly, like floodwaters after a rainstorm. 

But- suddenly, fear, cold and unrelenting, grips him. It sinks into his bones. Chases away Shisui’s calming voice. And, despite what he’d thought, he finally realizes-

_ I don’t wanna die- _

This is wrong. All wrong. There’s no relief in his bleeding wrists now. No Shisui to claim him, no soft darkness of oblivion. Just blind fearterrorpanic  _ I don’t want to die! _

He manages to get his feet beneath him. Manages to undo the lock on his bedroom door. 

The hallway spins around him, blackness throbbing at the edges of his vision.

_ Cowardice,  _ a voice in his head scolds him.  _ So cowardly you can’t even die. _

“Mom-” he calls out, though his voice is too weak to travel far. 

It isn’t his mother who hears him. 

Like a moth to a flame, Sasuke follows the sound of his big brother’s voice.

“Niisa-”

His eager tone dies off, hopeful smile fading into a look of abject horror.

Itachi’s heart plunges into his stomach.

Sasuke’s eyes might bulge clean out of his skull, as they trace the sickening path of blood made by Itachi’s dripping wrists.

He dashes down the hallway with a speed he didn’t know his little brother was capable of.

“Mom!” he screams, panicked, shrill. “Mom, Niisan’s hurt!”

It’s funny. Itachi can’t see anymore. He can’t stand anymore, either. He feels the cool wooden floor beneath his cheek, though he doesn't remember falling.

“Oh my God-”

Mom’s arms are around him, now. He can feel her shaking him, hear her calling out to him  _ “Itachi what did you do?!”  _ but he can’t answer her anymore. Instead, he reaches blindly, grabbing the front of her dress with as much strength as he can muster.

_ Help me, Mom, I made a mistake, I don’t wanna die, please- _

Maybe she’s carrying him now, but he isn’t conscious enough to really tell. 

_ Mom, help me- I’m scared- _

~oOo~

“You don’t look very well, Itachi-kun.”

There’s genuine concern in Orochimaru’s voice- which must mean Itachi really does look as awful as he feels.

The back of the man’s hand brushes his cheek, and he frowns.

“How long has he been running a fever like that?” he asks Kisame, almost accusatory. 

“Uh- since last night, maybe?” 

Kisame’s tone indicates that he didn’t know he was supposed to be that concerned.

“Itachi-kun, you should sit down. You poor thing-”

Freshly emerged from Hiruko, Sasori drums his thin fingers against a boulder impatiently. 

“You can start discussing things with Kisame while I see to Itachi-kun,” Orochimaru reminds him, catching his annoyance. 

“I’ll be alright,” Itachi protests, even as Orochimaru is practically shoving him onto the dusty ground.

It isn’t until he’s sitting down that he realizes he’s dizzy- he has to close his eyes to stave off a sudden wave of nausea. Orochimaru tugs his headband off, letting it fall carelessly to the side.

A cool, damp cloth is pressed against his bare forehead.

“You’ll wear yourself out if you on like this,” the man chides. “There’s no shame in speaking up if you’re ill.”

Itachi doesn't answer, merely savoring the relief of something cold.

Orochimaru presses a few white tablets into his palm.

“You should take these and rest for awhile,” he says, insistently. 

The tablets taste bitter on Itachi’s tongue, and have a texture like chalk; he chases them down with a few mouthfuls of water. He rests his weight on his arms, and listens while the other three discuss whatever Akatsuki business they’re supposed to be dealing with- though he doesn't care quite enough to actually pay attention. 

After maybe five minutes, he feels the medication taking the edge off his fever, and the throbbing in his head along with it.

“-Before that, though- Konan-sama said she’ll need to borrow Itachi-kun for a few days.”

Itachi’s head jerks upward.

“What for?”

“Something about wanting you to come along to get Kakuzu’s new partner,” Orochimaru answers.

“Why me?” Itachi wonders aloud.

“I didn’t think to ask- I’m just passing along what I’ve been told.”

Itachi frowns, but nods his understanding anyway.

“Alright, I suppose it’s settled,” he says.

Kisame has a look on his face that Itachi can’t quite read. Disappointment? Well, maybe. 

(Itachi has never really been good at reading people’s emotions.)

“I guess I’ll see you when you get back, Itachi-san.”

Itachi nods.

“Yeah. See you later.”

 


	9. Hidan.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein I find out I really like writing Hidan, and Mikoto and Fugaku are obviously upset over Itachi's suicide attempt.

* * *

Itachi wouldn’t dare voice it out loud for fear of being seen as weak, but Kakuzu absolutely terrifies him.

A permanent, menacing aura leaks off the man, clinging to his being like cigarette smoke. He towers over both him and Konan, as if silently reminding Itachi that he’s still a child.

Still- the quiet is nice. Neither Kakuzu, nor Konan, nor Itachi feel the need to speak much, so they walk together while listening to the sounds of the deep forest. 

Konan glances at the sleeve of his cloak, riding just a bit too far up his wrist.

“You’re going to need new clothes soon, huh?” she remarks, the faintest trace of a smile on her painted lips.

“Hm? I suppose.”

Itachi thinks he sees the woman roll her eyes when Kakuzu grumble something about how much money that costs.

Night passes uneventfully- Itachi stays awake under the guise of keeping watch, but really his head hurts and he knows he won’t be able to sleep. He keeps his Sharingan on, tracking every little movement through the trees. He takes a few of the white tablets from the bottle Orochimaru slipped into the lining of his cloak, to keep his fever at bay.

(He thinks Konan is concerned for him, but she doesn't say anything if she is.)

As soon as the first hints of dawn arrive, they pick up and set off once more.

Birds flit about, twittering cheerfully, announcing themselves to passersby. But that happy chirping dies away, the deeper into the forest they go.

An eerie silence takes over, and the light grows dimmer as the foliage grows denser. 

Even in the darkness, Itachi can see corpses draped from the tree branches, blood dripping down into the greedy dirt below them.

Kakuzu looks around, and Itachi isn’t sure if he’s disgusted or merely curious.

“The guy who did this didn’t do it to save his own skin, and he obviously didn’t do it for money,” he muses, more to himself than anything. “He did it just for the fun of killing.”

The corners of Itachi’s mouth pull downward; it’s always been strange to him, the idea that anybody could possibly find killing  _ fun. _

“So I’ve heard,” Konan replies, resting her hands on her hips as she surveys the carnage around them. “Yugakure contacted Akatsuki to dispatch him- they’ve put a pretty heavy bounty on his head, from what we’ve gathered.”

“Wouldn’t it be more worth it to kill him then?”

“Not if the rumors about this guy are true.”

“Rumors?”

“That this is someone who can’t be killed.”

Kakuzu harrumphs. 

“-So why did you come with us, then?” he inquires. “Are you worried I might kill Itachi? Konoha has a huge bounty on  _ him  _ too, after all.”

He almost sounds amused- or, as amused as someone as Kakuzu could really ever be. Itachi suppresses the urge to shudder.

“No,” is Konan’s only answer.

Then, Itachi finds himself dodging an enormous and wickedly sharp blade, hearing the whistle of air as it barely misses taking his ear off.

The corner of his eye catches Konan dissolve into a million squares of paper, the blade of the scythe passing through her as well. Kakuzu ducks the blow aimed at him, seeming more annoyed than anything else.

Then- there’s laughter.

High, manic, unhinged, inhuman laughter echoes off the trees, turning Itachi’s blood to ice in his veins. His eyes dart around wildly, tracking the source of such an otherworldly sound, hoping against hope that his fright doesn't show on his face.

Konan does not look frightened in the least.

“You’re Hidan?” She asks, head turned toward where the laughter had come from. 

“Holy fucking shit- it’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone say my name!”

Another bout of that horrible cackling, and a figure emerges.

There’s a wicked gleam in his violet eyes, and he scratches at slicked-back silver hair as he gives the trio a quick up-and-down glance.

“The hell you fuckers all dressed the same for? You in a band or some shit?”

He continues, before any of them can answer.

“-Wait, lemme take a guess- the hot bitch is on keyboard,” he says, pointing at Konan with his scythe, “grumpy bastard’s on bass,” he turns it toward Kakuzu, “and the pretty-boy sad-eyed fuck over here does vocals-” his scythe rests on Itachi. 

Konan shakes her head.

“We’re with an organization called Akatsuki,” she corrects him. “We’re here to make you an offer.”

“Eh? The fuck for?”

Hidan’s head rests at a jaunty angle which makes his neck resemble one of the myriad broken tree branches around him.

Konan takes a step forward, undaunted.

“Leader-sama would like you to join us.”

Hidan scoffs.

“Why the fuck would I do that for?”

He stretches his arms out wide, gesturing toward the heavens.

“I have my lord Jashin! I offer my prayers and accept his gifts! My life is spent in humble service to Jashin-sama- I don’t need anything else!”

He speaks with a sort of crazed devotion that Itachi can’t stop the sneer that crosses his face.

“You got somethin’ to say, pretty boy?” 

“-You think you’re some sort of holy man?” Itachi asks, and disdain slips into his voice. “You’re just a thug who kills because it’s fun.”

Hidan glares at him.

“Jashin-sama won’t be mocked, you self-righteous little prick!”

Konan steps between the pair of them.

“That’s enough.”

“I’ll send all three of you to Jashin-sama!” Hidan declares.

“-Would you just shut up already?”

Kakuzu has his arms folded impatiently. Hidan growls, a feral grin twisting his handsome features.

“How about I fuckin’ kill you first?” 

“I’d like to see you try.”

Itachi and Konan retreat into the safety of a tall oak, and Kakuzu lunges at Hidan.

There’s a shrill sound as the metal of Hidan’s scythe meets the stone of Kakuzu’s fist. A sickening crunch as that same fist punches clean through the tree Hidan’s head had been in front of moments ago.

“You move slow- you some old fuck or something?”

Kakuzu doesn't take kindly to the insult; his next blow connects square with Hidan’s face, sending him flying. He crashes through several trees, before skidding to a stop in the mud.

“That really fucking hurt, asshole!” Hidan whines. “God damn it!”

He charges helter-skelter at Kakuzu, roaring in enraged frustration. Itachi flinches at the sickening crack of Kakuzu’s ribs.

“Should we step in?” he asks Konan, still keeping his eyes trained on the fighting below them.

The woman shakes her head.

“I want to see what this guy can do.”

“Understood.”

That shrill, awful laugh tears from Hidan’s throat again.

“You’re really pissing me off, you old fuck!”

Itachi watches in horrified fascination as the wicked blade of Hidan’s scythe pierces through Kakuzu’s chest, and Kakuzu’s body goes limp. Hidan shudders, and exhales a great, shaky breath.

“Fuck, that was good,” he moans, swiping his hand across his scythe and lapping up the blood. “Haven’t had anyone put up a fight like that in a long time.”

He looks upward, locking eyes with Itachi, heedless of his Sharingan.

“I think I’ll take you out next. You look like you’d squawk  _ real  _ nice.”

Itachi starts to make the seal for a fireball jutsu, but he doesn't need to. Kakuzu grabs Hidan by the ankle, and throws him onto the ground.

“-Obnoxious brat,” he snarls. “Maybe I should just kill you-”

Still unafraid, Hidan cackles.

“Holy fucking shitballs, dude! How the hell did you survive that?!”

A low growl rumbles deep in Kakuzu’s chest.

“You think you’re the only one who found out how to cheat death, boy?”

“Eh?!”

Hidan looks unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed.

“So then how’s a guy like you end up with those dipshits over there? You fuckin’ ‘em or-”

“-You should shut up now.”

Kakuzu seizes Hidan by the neck and squeezes it hard, silencing him.

When Hidan has cyanosed and started properly panicking, Kakuzu releases his grip. Hidan splutters and gasps, spewing profanities at him. Kakuzu evidently doesn't care one bit.

“Coulda had a quiet partner like the kid,” he grumbles. “But I’m stuck with a loud-mouthed bastard like you.”

“The fuck you-”

“-Welcome to the Akatsuki,” Konan says, following Itachi back to the forest floor. “Now, let’s go.”

“Waitwait fuckin’  _ wait-  _ I never said anything about joining you assholes!”

Konan raises a pierced eyebrow at him.

“But~ since you’re offering-”

Hidan makes a show like he’s having a very hard time thinking it over.

“As long as I can keep offering my prayers to Jashin-sama, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

“Whatever you do outside missions is entirely your business,” Konan quips, already walking off. The rest follow, Kakuzu still grousing under his breath, Itachi watching Hidan out of his peripheral vision.

He doesn't trust this guy. He doesn't  _ like  _ this guy. He doesn't like anyone who thinks murder is fun. But none of that shows on his face. He keeps his lips pressed into a thin line, keeps his eyes fixed forward, though he keeps himself aware of Hidan’s chakra, in case he tries something.

It’s weird. He never pictured someone (who doesn't even seem to be much older than himself) to be capable of such wanton cruelty. It makes his stomach clench uncomfortably.

He really, really wants to get back to Kisame soon.

**~oOo~**

Itachi knows that his mother and father are trying to be quiet, but it isn’t enough. He can still hear every worried word they whisper at each other from a few rooms over, carrying through the paper-thin walls.

And it makes him sick. Makes him keenly aware of what an awful, awful child he is.

He fiddles with the thick bandaging around his wrists, and wills himself not to cry, because crying makes his eyes hurt.

“-I can’t believe he’d- and so soon after- I don’t get it! Why would he-”

“Fugaku, please-”

His father sounds stunned. Absolutely dumbfounded. And his mother- his mother sounds distraught. 

"Itachi is hurt right now. He's terrified. Shisui was his best friend, after all."

Fugaku is silent.

“...You don’t think he did it, did you?” Mikoto asks softly, brokenly. 

“Of course not!” 

Fugaku sounds offended that Mikoto would even suggest such a thing.

“...I don’t think he did it,” he repeats, softer. “But...I think he knows what happened to him.”

“Fugaku, what do you mean?”

There’s a long silence.

“I think Itachi knows how Shisui died.  _ Really  _ died. And I think Danzo is involved with it.”

Itachi squeezes his pillow tightly, ignoring the white-hot pain which shoots up 

“What?! Fugaku, that’s-”

“Shisui would never have done it. Shisui loved life. Why would he ever- it just doesn't make sense. I don’t have proof, but he couldn’t have killed himself.”

Itachi sucks in a sharp breath, clamping a hand over his mouth. It _hurts_ to do it, but otherwise he'll whimper, and his parents will come into his room.  


“...What would he do that for?” Mikoto asks.

“I don’t know,” Fugaku answers, bluntly. 

“Well then, what do we do?” 

Itachi chews on his bottom lip, shutting his eyes tightly.

Silently, he begs his mother and father to put one and one together. He wants to hear them storming out of the house, marching into Danzo’s office, howling that they know everything.

He wishes he could tell them everything, wishes he could throw himself into their arms, and sob and beg for their forgiveness. He wants to beg them  _ please help me I’m so scared I don’t know what to do- _

“I don’t know,” Fugaku says, and Itachi feels his heart crumble. “Like I said, we have no proof- there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

He sounds so helpless, and Itachi hates that. 

He knows Mom and Dad are holding each other right now. They always hold each other when they’re worried.

“We’ll make it better,” Fugaku murmurs, and Itachi knows he’s stroking his wife’s hair. “We’ll find out the truth. We’ll fix it. I know we can.”

Itachi’s heart drops into his stomach. He wraps his arms around himself, and it sends jolts of pain through his ragged nerves. 

_Please help me. Mom, Dad-_

_I'm so scared..._


	10. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itachi is in a bad mood. Kisame is just starting to realize that he's growing up. Also, Itachi is bestowed Kakuzu's greatest gesture of friendship :P

Three years.

It’s been three years since Itachi has had to abandon everything he ever knew, forced to take on the mantle of a criminal and a murderer. Forced to watch his little brother grow up through infrequent updates provided to him by Zetsu and Madara. 

Three years since he’s been partnered with Hoshigaki Kisame, the infamous missing-nin and fiercest member of Kirigakure’s Seven Swordsmen.

He’s gotten used to some of it. Skulking around in the dark, constantly looking over his shoulder whenever they leave the safety of Ame- those are the sorts of things that come with the shinobi lifestyle. He’s well accustomed to the uniform by now- though Kakuzu sometimes gripes about how quickly he keeps growing out of them. He’s also grown used to Kisame becoming his constant companion; in fact, he’s even grown fond of the man’s rough voice filling the silence between them whenever they aren’t on missions.

But there are some things that don’t get better with time.

To be able to see to Sasuke again- to be able to hug him, to pat him on the head or ask him about his day- the thing he longs for the most is something he can never have again.

He receives copies of Sasuke’s school report cards- top marks and glowing reviews from all his teachers, as is to be expected of his brother. He knows Sasuke is getting taller, and that he still seems to have that visceral hatred for hair brushes that sent him scurrying to hide whenever their mother dared to pull one out.

But these little glimpses are not enough. They could never be.

It’s Sasuke’s eleventh birthday today, so these thoughts are weighing on Itachi heavier than usual. He’d normally be out doing his training around this time of day, but instead he lays flat on his bed, staring at the blank white ceiling with despair gnawing at his heart.

Sasuke deserves to be surrounded by his family, with cake and presents and their parents’ smiles- but instead he’s all alone. And that’s all Itachi’s fault.

The bathroom door opens, accompanied by a cloud of steam. The paper divider closes while Kisame dresses.

The sensory input barely registers in Itachi’s brain.

 

“Something on your mind, Itachi-san?”

Itachi sighs.

So, that’s a yes, then.

(That part was obvious- Kisame is almost certain Itachi hasn’t moved all day.)

“I suppose it’s not anything you want to talk about.”

Silence. So that’s a no.

“There’s still hot water left. Might help clear your head.”

Another sigh.

Kisame was expecting as much, really. But Itachi really  _ does  _ look down, and even if he has absolutely zero idea how one goes about cheering up another person, a part of him he didn’t even know existed still urges him to try.

“You eaten today? Chinsuko’s place has some pretty good warabimochi this time of year- you should try it.”

A shrug.

(Damn. Itachi is in a  _ really  _ bad way to be turning down sweets.)

Kisame huffs, picking Samehada up from its place leaned against the wall.

“Sure you’re okay just hanging around in bed all day?”

A nod.

“Whatever you say, Itachi-san. If you change your mind, I’ll be out on the training grounds. A bit of sparring could do you some good.”

As usual, Kisame doesn't get an answer.

“Hidan wants to go out drinking afterward. If you wanted to join in I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

(He must be going soft. This nagging feeling in his gut just might be concern.)

“Well then, I’ll be off.”

Itachi makes one last sound of acknowledgement before the door closes.

Must be one of those moody teenager things, he reassures himself. Kids sulk over nothing- Itachi especially. He’ll be fine in a few hours. Itachi usually is.

**~oOo~**

Itachi’s legs are full of lead, each step forward more exhausting than the last. His muscles burn from his day’s training. All he wants to do is fall into his bed and sleep for a thousand years. To curl up in the shower until the hot water was all gone, and probably for awhile longer after that.  


-Oh, if only.

“Niisan!”

Sasuke practically tackles Itachi when he walks through the door, knocking his bag out of his grip before he can kick his sandals off or even call out  _ “I’m home!” _

“Niisan, it’s my birthday!” he chirps, holding up three fingers. “I’m this old today!”

“Yeah, I know,” Itachi says, smiling warmly at his little brother. 

“Mom’s making cake!” 

“I can’t wait.”

Sasuke’s smile falls. He tilts his head at his older brother.

“What’s wrong, Niisan?”

Itachi manages his best fake smile.

“I’m fine, Sasuke. Just a little tired. I’m gonna lay down for a little bit, then we can play, alright?”

“I’ll nap with you!” Sasuke insists, already tugging Itachi down the hall before he could protest. 

He bounces around the room a bit while Itachi gets himself situated in bed; once Itachi is settled, he climbs in alongside him, nestling snugly against him.

“You think Dad’ll be home in time to eat cake with us?” Sasuke asks, a hopeful note in his voice.

“Hm, maybe,” Itachi answers, not really wanting to lie. “But you know he’s very busy with work.”

“I know,” Sasuke pouts. 

Itachi ruffles his hair, and lets his heavy eyes fall closed.

“It’ll be fine, Sasuke. Dad loves you either way.”

“He acts like he only cares about you.”

Itachi wishes he has more reassuring words, but sleep tugs heavily at his brain.

“That’s not true,” he manages to mumble.

Sasuke whines, burying his face in Itachi’s shoulder.

“I hope you’re not lying.”

**~oOo~**

The need for something to eat finally outweighs Itachi’s desire to stay in bed at about seven in the evening. He emerges from his bedroom, feeling like garbage, and probably looking it, too.

He pokes his head in the refrigerator-

There’s a fresh box of warabimochi, his name written on it in sloppy kanji.

(Kisame has some truly atrocious handwriting.)

The small gesture brings a tired smile to his face.

He eats a few of them along with some tea, and that helps him feel a bit better. He decides maybe finding a book to read will help keep him from stewing in his own misery, so he heads off toward the library.

As per the usual, Kakuzu is settled in one of the armchairs, reading one of the books from his treasured collection. Itachi starts browsing the shelves away from the man’s private collection, searching for something new.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Kakuzu deigns to speak to him.

“I suppose you’ll have read all of those by now,” he remarks. There’s something unusual in his tone, though Itachi can’t figure out what it is.

Itachi shrugs in response. He briefly wonders if Kakuzu has kept track of the books he’s read over the years.  


“You go through books like you go through clothes.”

Is...is Kakuzu teasing him?

Kakuzu rises from his chair and heads toward the set of shelves which house his personal collection.

He peruses the shelves for a few long moments, muttering under his breath, before settling on one at last. He holds it out toward Itachi; Itachi looks at both the man and the book for a heartbeat or two before he realizes what the gesture means.

“You should be able to appreciate this one.”

Kakuzu’s voice doesn't lose that gruff, dismissive tone- but Itachi wonders if he catches the barest hint of a smile beneath that mask.

“If you damage it, I’ll kill you,” the man cautions.

“Thank you,” the boy mumbles, taking the book into his hands; it’s a huge, ancient-looking book, maybe one-of-a-kind. He runs his fingers over it in curiosity; the leather is well-worn, the pages yellowing at the edges.

His contemplation is broken, however, when Kakuzu seizes his wrist and yanks it toward him. Itachi flinches backward, but the man’s grip holds fast. Those strange green eyes  are fixed on the harsh white scar that stands out amongst the mottled burns that decorate the arms of every Uchiha.

It feels like they stand there for an eon, Kakuzu’s eyes narrowed while they sweep up and down that shameful reminder. It takes all of Itachi’s strength to keep his face blank.

Finally, Kakuzu releases Itachi’s wrist from his grip, and Itachi snatches his arm back.

“...Gonna need new clothes again,” is all Kakuzu grumbles, before returning to his chair and his book.

Itachi’s heart throws itself against his sternum like it wants to burst free. He tugs his pajama sleeve as far over the scar as he can manage, and scurries back to the safety of his room.

He tries really,  _ really  _ hard to pretend there hadn’t been the barest trace of pity in Kakuzu’s eyes.

(Kakuzu is right. He’ll need new clothes soon. Preferably something with nice, long sleeves.)

 

Seated in the dark on the floor of his room, Itachi lights eleven candles, arranged carefully in a circle in around him. He watches the flames flicker. Hates himself for not being able to be with his little brother on what should be a special day. He bows his head and closes his eyes, not allowing himself to cry.

(He knows he doesn't deserve that.)

He hopes that, at the very least, Sasuke has someone to bring him some sort of happiness today, since he can’t be there to do it himself.

(Does Sasuke have any friends? Zetsu said he usually keeps to himself.)

Itachi wonders, vaguely, if death hurts anywhere near this badly.

 

The first thing that pops into Kisame’s head when he comes back- maybe more than a little tipsy, but that’s not the point- is that Itachi looks like a sad little ghost.

The faint golden light from the candles brings the shadows under Itachi’s eyes into harsh relief. Makes his pale skin look paler still. Black eyes stare at the flickering flame dancing in front of him, like he hasn’t noticed the man walk in.

“You tryna summon a demon or something?” Kisame jokes, slurring his words ever so slightly.

That gets Itachi to turn those dark eyes toward him. They narrow oh-so-slightly, but it’s enough to chill Kisame’s blood.

“I was just kidding, Itachi-san!” Kisame is quick to add on.

Another one of those soft sighs, and Itachi returns to staring at his ring of candles.

“Hey, something on your mind?”

Itachi merely continues staring into the candle’s depths like they hold the secrets of the universe. Kisame wants to ask what on Earth he’s  _ looking  _ for in there, but he knows he won’t get an answer.

“...Thank you.”

Kisame jolts.

_ Holy shit he remembered how to talk! _

“For what?”

“The mochi.”

“Heh. So you figured out that was me?”

Itachi quirks an eyebrow, and something about the gesture almost makes Kisame burst out laughing.

“Who else would it have been?”

Fair point. Kisame feels his way over to his bed in the dark, sitting on the edge of it to observe the boy some more.

Itachi leans back on his hands, and that sharp, delicate collar bone comes into relief.

He really is like a bird, Kisame muses to himself. Delicate bones and sharp eyes and that finicky personality of his. Damn if he isn’t beautiful, though.

Wait. Beautiful?

Shaking his head, Kisame decides he must be more drunk that he thought. 

It isn’t a lie, though. Somewhere down the line, that round-faced little brat Kisame had been introduced to had become...well, not that. He’s gotten taller now, lost the baby fat in his face. He’s still thin, almost too much so, but he’s put on enough muscle that it isn’t quite so alarming. But he still has those long, dark eyelashes, that long silky hair that gets passing compliments from women they pass. Sometimes he wonders if it’d be worth it to try to touch-

-Yeah, Kisame is  _ definitely  _ more drunk than he thought. Probably best to sleep it off before he thinks any more stupid thoughts.

Still fully clothed, he crawls under the covers and lets himself drift off.

While he’s in that hazy spot between sleep and waking, he hears Itachi speak.

“...Happy birthday, Sasuke.”

(One of these days, Kisame is gonna have to ask who this Sasuke guy is.)


	11. All the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orochimaru did The Thing. Itachi is not happy about it. Kisame thinks he's bad at comfort. Sasori is Sasori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: SELF HARM/CUTTING- please proceed with caution

Itachi is acting strangely. Well, more strangely than usual.

It’s funny that, of all the thoughts that could come to Kisame’s mind, that’s the one that chooses to pop up.

Four sets of eyes bore into him. A heavy spray of blood cuts a path up his clothes and across his pale face.

He’d been found in this state by Sasori, standing in the middle of Orochimaru’s laboratory, a white, severed hand laying in a crimson pool at his feet.

Orochimaru is nowhere to be found.

“He tried to kill me,” He explains, matter-of-factly, answering Sasori’s interrogations for what must be the fifth or sixth time by now. “I prevented that. That’s all there is to it.”

“Where did he go?!” Sasori demands, seizing Itachi by the collar of his cloak and shaking him.  There’s a manic, unhinged glint in Sasori’s eyes that makes Kisame uneasy.

“I don’t know,” Itachi answers, in that same flat monotone. “I just know he’s gone.”

Sasori grits his teeth. He looks like he desperately wants to break Itachi’s neck, but he doesn't get the chance.

“Are you alright?” Konan asks, gently, pushing Sasori away from him. “Did he hurt you?”

The boy shakes his head.

“I told you- I didn’t let him.”

“For an Akatsuki to attack another is unforgivable,” Pain says, a cold, frightening sort of anger seeping into his voice. “He won’t go unpunished for his actions.”

Itachi doesn't respond to this. Neither does Sasori- he simply stalks off down the hallway, murder emanating off him.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Konan asks, one more time. Itachi nods; though it’s clear neither she nor Pain truly believe him, they take their leave as well. Kisame feels keenly uncomfortable, but at the same time is unsure what he wants to say to break the silence.

Itachi walks away from him, back toward their shared room. After a bit of hesitation, Kisame decides he’d better follow.

 

When they reach their room, Itachi makes a beeline for the shower, casting aside his bloodstained cloak as he goes. He shuts the door behind him, and in about twenty seconds, Kisame hears the water start. Kisame sits on his bed to take care of Samehada, and loses track of the time. Samehada mewls contentedly, practically preening itself.

An hour passes. Then two.

Now Kisame is starting to worry.

“Hey,” he calls out, trying to keep his tone jovial,  “did you drown in there, Itachi-san?”

No response. He sets Samehada aside and stands up.

And that’s when it hits him. The familiar, metallic smell of blood.

“Itachi-san?”

(Kisame won’t admit to himself that the cold feeling welling up inside him is panic.)

Mechanically, he takes the three steps he needs to reach the bathroom, and turns the handle.

He doesn't get the chance to wonder how Itachi forgot to lock the door.

The next few moments blur together in his head. Itachi’s curled up on the shower floor, kunai in his hand, deep gashes across his thighs and up his right wrist. Then Kisame has an arm wrapped around the boy, free hand turning off the water that’s long gone cold. Something that sounds like _“what the fuck did you do?!”_ escapes his mouth, but it feels disconnected somehow, distant- muffled, even though Kisame is pretty sure he’s yelling.

The white towel he grabs to grant Itachi some modicum of modesty quickly becomes soaked through with crimson.

Kisame half-throws Itachi onto the bed, fumbling around for the first-aid kit and repressing the urge to scream at this stupid, stupid boy.

(He’d understand feeling annoyed. But why he’s so _angry,_ he can’t pin down.)

Itachi flinches when Kisame touches his leg, shrinking in so far it’s like he wants to disappear into himself.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Kisame scolds. “You’ve done a good enough job of that yourself.”

The boy lets out a sharp whine, turning his head away and shutting his eyes tightly. He twitches every time Kisame touches him, holding his breath and chewing a hole through his lower lip. Kisame pretends not to notice that, or the way Itachi trembles while the man doctors his wounds.

There’s more scars than untouched skin on Itachi’s thighs, Kisame notes, wrapping layers of gauze over them. Once his legs are properly seen to, he takes hold of Itachi’s arm, to tend to his mutilated wrist. The fresh wounds there overlap the huge, white one that Kisame always pretends he can’t see.

He knows he should probably say something. This silence is unbearable- but really, what could he say that Itachi would actually listen to?

He doesn't’t have to ponder this for too long, however; in keeping with the _Itachi is acting fucking weird_ theme of the day, he speaks of his own accord.

“...They’re all the same,” he mumbles.

Kisame blinks in surprise.

“Eh?”

“I don’t know why I thought he’d be different.” Itachi sounds- angry? Yeah, that’s close enough. “It’s always the same. They’re only kind because they want something from you. Not because they actually care.”

He shakes his head, sending water and strands of soaking-wet hair flying in every direction.

“I must be an idiot. I never learn-”

“-No disrespect, Itachi-san, but what are you babbling on about?”

“-It’s just like wh-”

Before it even registers in Kisame’s mind, both of Itachi’s hands fly upward and clamp tightly over his mouth. Whatever he was about to say, the man can’t hear it.

With a heavy sigh, Kisame takes Itachi’s arm back to finish wrapping it.

“Forget I said anything, alright?”

“I-”

“-You don’t trust me. I know. I get it, Itachi-san.”

“No! It’s not that I- I mean- I don’t- _you_ aren’t like-”

Yep. Itachi is definitely babbling. Kisame very briefly wonders if this is just someone else doing  a poor imitation of his partner.

“Get some clothes on,” Kisame advises, retreating to his own half of the room. “You’d probably best lie down for a bit.”

Itachi complies, retreating back into that stone-faced, silent version of himself Kisame has come to know. He throws on his favorite black pajamas, then curls up facing away from Kisame. Despite being far taller than he was back then, he looks, once again, like that frail little child Kisame had met years ago.

-He lets out a soft, pained noise. His thin shoulders shake, ever so slightly.

Kisame buries himself in a book that he isn’t really reading, and pretends he doesn't notice the boy crying.

Samehada makes a small, concerned noise, growing restless in its bandaging.  Kisame pets it idly, and pretends his trusted weapon isn’t picking up on his unease.

He tells himself that there’s nothing he can do, anyway. How is a brute like him supposed to comfort a crying teenager, after all? Even if he tried, he doesn't have the foggiest idea of where he should even begin.

Yes, it’s better to just let Itachi be for now. He’ll be fine in a few hours.

Itachi always is.

~oOo~

“That’s your bright idea, Kisame?”

(Well. That doesn't sound like a promising start to this little meeting.)

“Yeah. What about it?”

“You’re talking about treason,” Juzo growls, eyes darting around their secluded training grounds looking for eavesdroppers.

“That’s right.”

“There’s seven of us. How the hell are we supposed to do anything?”

“Because we’re us, dumbass,” Zabuza retorts; Kisame can already tell that the young man is baring his teeth under his bandages.

“You’re gonna get us all killed,” Mangetsu chimes in, handsome face affixed in an unflattering scowl.

“And?”

“Some of us don’t just have ourselves to look after, you know! Maybe you two are fine with keeling over, but I’ve got a dumbass little brother to look after!”

“You think your dumbass brother can’t look after himself?” Ringo asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“I _know_ he can’t! The dipshit can’t even work the stove properly! How’s he supposed to not fuckin’ starve to death if something happens to me?! He’s only _got_ me!”

“He’ll figure it out, or he’ll die too,” Zabuza shrugs. “Same as Haku.”

Mangetsu glares daggers at Zabuza, but doesn't offer up a retort.

“...Well, I’m with Kisame on this,” Ringo says, after a painful silence passes between the seven of them. “It ain’t right that we keep sticking our necks out for a village that doesn't give a shit whether we live or die. If we let it keep going like this then Suigetsu is gonna get pulled into the same shit. If anyone can change that it’s us, right?”

Kushimaru folds his arms, eyes going narrow.

“Sounds like a load of bullshit,” he huffs. “Y’all can play revolution without me.”

Juzo frowns.

“...I’m with Kisame,” he mutters, after a long deliberation.

“Eh, fuck all of ya,” Raiga scoffs. “Be suicidal if you want, but leave me out of it.”

Well. The varying reaction was nothing Kisame hadn’t expected. Leaning on Samehada, the gears in his brain start turning away.

“Well, whatever you guys decide to do, it’s best to keep this between the seven of us, yeah?”

Murmurs of agreement spread through the group.  Out of sheer paranoia, they disperse, with only Zabuza remaining beside Kisame.

“Well,” Zabuza grumbles, “that really coulda gone better.”

“Also coulda gone worse,” Kisame shrugs. “We can roll with what we have.”

“When did you get so optimistic?” Zabuza scoffs, his tone almost teasing.

“Gotta keep our heads up,” Kisame muses. “It’d be too easy to give up otherwise.”

Zabuza makes a small sound of acknowledgement, curling his hand around Kubikirikocho like a lifeline.

“Be careful,” he cautions, some genuine concern leaking into his voice. “You can’t guarantee that nobody heard you talking shit. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone tries to organize an _accident_ for you sometime soon.”

Kisame doesn't let on that he’s afraid.

~oOo~

Sasori is angry. Even though his face is perfectly blank, his fury radiates off him like a visible aura. Kisame gets the sudden urge to pull Itachi as far away from him as possible- because it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out _who_ Sasori’s anger is directed at.

Kisame joins the other two in silence, as they head out to retrieve Sasori’s new partner. Kisame tracks the sun across the sky, making note of how much time passes without anyone speaking.

That is, until Sasori breaks the silence.

“What happened to your arm?”

Itachi snaps out of his trance, eyes following Sasori’s to the thick bandaging under the sleeve of his cloak.

“I just had an accident,” he answers, the lie coming as naturally as breathing. It’s nothing.”

“Hm.”

It’s pretty obvious Sasori doesn't believe the boy, but he merely pulls a rather unflattering scowl, and lets the matter rest.

Itachi’s expression doesn't move from its stony mask. But there’s something in his eyes- a flash of shame as he turns his head away. He fiddles with the sleeve of his cloak, tugging it further over the bandages, the barest hint of red dusting his pale face.

Someone else might miss these subtle signs. But Kisame knows Itachi far too well to miss them.

Out of nowhere, Kisame feels the overwhelming urge to tell Itachi that he doesn't need to be ashamed. But then he shakes his head, boggled at where that thought suddenly came from.

He shakes his head, banishing the thought from his mind.

The sun is bright overhead; only a handful of fluffy white clouds breaks up the crisp azure of the sky above them. The three are content in the silence, so nobody makes another move to break it.

When Kisame glances over at Itachi, he catches the boy squinting the smallest fraction when they pass a poster nailed to the trunk of a maple tree, a ghost of an annoyed grimace playing on his lips.

He briefly debates whether he should inquire about Itachi’s eyesight, but brushes that thought away as quickly as it comes.

Not like he’d get an answer, after all.

 


	12. unwelcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deidara joins Akatsuki. Itachi's teenage hormones are acting up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the unintended hiatus! I had personal garbage going on :<

“Is this guy really gonna be my new partner?”

Sasori sounds thoroughly annoyed, his immature voice masked by Hiruko’s thick, gravelly one. He looks the boy in front of them up and down with a quiet disdain.

The kid’s young- even younger than Itachi. Shorter than Itachi, too.bright blue eyes full of fire glare at the three of them from behind a fringe of silky blond hair.

(Deidara. That’s what his file calls him, anyway. Such a tiny thing for one so allegedly dangerous- but Kisame knows well by now not to underestimate people based on size.)

“Like I told ya already, I’ve never heard of Akatsuki or whatever the fuck y’all call yourselves  _ hn.  _ So beat it!’

“Sure, he’s got spirit,” Sasori continues, as if the boy hadn’t even spoken. “But he looks like the type to die young. I don’t much feel like dragging the brat around before then.”

“I already  _ told  _ you to piss off!” Deidara huffs, crossing his arms and stamping his foot like the petulant child he truly is. “I came here to look at art, not get recruited by your creepy cult  _ hn _ !”

“You’re really annoying,” Sasori growls.

In the back of his mind, Kisame starts to wonder if their leader really thought it through when he decided to pair these two up together. Beyond their shared obsession with art, anyway.

“...How about this, then?” Itachi offers, sending three sets of eyes darting toward him. “Let’s settle this between the two of us.”

(Kisame will never not be startled when Itachi speaks of his own accord.)

“Eh?” 

“If I can defeat you here, you’ll come with us. If I can’t we’ll leave you alone.”

Deidara snorts derisively.

‘You? You look like a stiff breeze would knock ya clean over  _ hn _ .”

“If that’s so then it should be no problem for you,” Itachi retorts, unruffled. “So let’s settle it now, shall we?”

Deidara sneers.

“Your funeral  _ hn _ .”

The moment Kisame spies the crimson in Itachi’s eyes, he knows exactly what’s going on. And exactly how this fight is going to end.

Hell, calling it a  _ fight  _ is laughable.

All that’s left is to sit back and hope the kid doesn't trash this nice art museum.

“This better not take too long,” Sasori grumbles.

“Don’t worry,” Kisame assures him. “Itachi-san isn’t the type to drag a fight out.”

True to his word, a few seconds later Deidara is hurling one of those clay sculptures he’s become so infamous for.

“ _ Katsu _ !”

Itachi doesn't so much as flinch when a hole is blown in the wall just behind him. Itachi must’ve said something that rubbed the kid the wrong way, for him to act out what’s happening in the genjutsu. Itachi, on the other hand, is as inflappable as ever, barely even blinking when a clay serpent winds itself around his skinny body.

After a few short moments, Deidara’s blue eyes go wide, as he finally comes back to reality.

“A-a genjutsu?!” he splutters. “Since when-”

“Since the start,” Kisame explains, in a nonchalant way. “You made the mistake of looking Itachi-san in the eye- you never had a chance.”

Deidara’s expression is one of utter humiliation. He shuts his eyes tightly, his face flushing dark red; the clay serpent wrapped around him falls to the floor with a small  _ thump. _

“Welcome to Akatsuki,” Itachi says, his voice a careful monotone.

“I don’t need anything else,” Sasori huffs, not even bothering to look at either Itachi or Kisame when he speaks. “As for you, brat- follow me. I’m going to go kill Orochimaru.”

“Wait, who the fuck’s Orochimaru?” Deidara demands, even as he follows Sasori out through the gaping hole in the museum wall. 

“I’ll explain on the way,” Sasori quips. “Just keep up with me.”

“Yeah yeah, keep yer pants on  _ hn.  _ I’m coming, I’m coming.”

The boy casts one last look at Itachi; the flush of his face grows deeper still, even though he’s making every effort to look angry.

Kisame nudges Itachi with his elbow to get his attention.

“Even faster than I expected, Itachi-san. Were you that impatient to get Sasori-san out of the way?”

Itachi just shrugs. He turns his head away and rubs at his bloodshot eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Can we go back now?” he asks. “Our coming along was pretty pointless.”

“Now I wouldn’t say that- you know the kid would’ve ended up as one of Sasori’s puppets if you hadn’t taken him down so easily. Sasori-san is impatient, afterall.”

Itachi lets out a small sound that might be his attempt at a laugh.

“Well then, Itachi-san- you said you wanted to go home. Let’s do that.”

With a small nod, Itachi follows Kisame out.

 

“So,” Kisame says, in an effort to break the hours-long silence between him and his partner, while they’re holed up in a cozy little tea shop. “What’re the odds that Sasori actually manages to off Orochimaru, ya think?”

“I can’t imagine they’re very high,” Itachi answers, eyes focused on his teacup. 

“Why do you figure?” 

“Because it’s Orochimaru.”

Reaching out for one of the mochi on the table between them, Kisame can’t help but smirk.

“Didn’t seem to give  _ you  _ too much trouble, Itachi-san.”

Another shrug of the boy’s skinny shoulders.

“He wanted me dead. I wasn’t keen on dying on those terms. I did what I had to.”

Kisame bites back the desire to bring up Itachi’s slashed-up wrists as a counterpoint. He knows it’d hardly help Itachi’s mood- better to let it be.

“He’ll want payback if we ever run into him again. Hope you’re ready for that,” he says instead.

“He doesn't frighten me,” Itachi responds.

“I know that,” Kisame chortles. “I’m just saying you’ll probably need to keep your guard up when we’re out from now on.”

Itachi quirks an eyebrow.

“I have to do that already.”

Fair. Kisame lets the matter go. He makes a point of letting Itachi have the last mochi, just to see that tiny glint of happiness in Itachi’s eyes when he bites into it.

(Is it weird that he feels so happy when Itachi is happy? Kisame isn’t sure- and he doesn't particularly care.)

 

“Enjoy the last few hours of sunshine, Itachi-san. Who knows when Leader-sama is gonna send us out of Ame again?”

Itachi hums an acknowledgement, head turned toward the brilliantly blue sky above him.

“Wha’cha looking at?” 

No answer, of course. At this point Kisame berates himself for expecting anything different.

Eating seems to have lessened the dark circles under his irritated eyes, at least- though they’re no less alarmingly bloodshot.

Odd, considering Itachi hasn’t had to use that Mangekyou Sharingan of his in quite some time. So what’s got them so irritated?

He knows if he asks, he’ll get the same silence he’s being treated to now. So he bites his tongue and keeps it to himself.

 

* * *

* * *

“You’ve been crying again.”

Itachi turns his head away from Shisui, but he doesn't try to deny it.

“Hey, you don’t gotta hide it from me. It’s okay.”

Shisui sits down beside Itachi, stretching his legs out along the riverbank.

“Talk to me,” he urges, in a carefully gentle tone. “What’s got you down?”

Nothing.

“Come on, ‘Tachi. Whenever I find you here it’s ‘cause something’s bothering you. What is it?”

Itachi curls in on himself, letting out a soft whine.

“I just…”

He hugs his knees against his chest, eyes fixated on the setting sun.

“What if we can’t work it out? What if we can’t fix the clan?”

Gritting his teeth, Itachi wills back the urge to start crying anew.

“What’ll we do? You heard them at the meeting last night- everyone’s furious. How can we even start talking them out of the-”

He chokes on the last words, unable to bring himself to say  _ coup d’etat. _

Shisui laughs- though it’s a hollow sort of laugh that sounds painfully forced.

“Want the truth? I have no idea. It’s a really shitty situation and it sucks.”

Itachi lets out a sharp whine of despair.

“But ‘Tachi- you remember ninja guideline two-seventeen, right?”

Itachi pulls a face.

“... _ Even when the task seems impossible, a shinobi always finds a way to accomplish it. _ ”

“There’s that scary memory of yours. We’ll figure it out- we’re Anbu, remember? Doing impossible stuff is kinda what we do.”

When Itachi doesn't respond, Shisui leans in a little closer.

“It alright if I kiss you?” 

Hesitantly, Itachi nods. Shisui presses his lips against Itachi’s cheek, then to the corner of his mouth.

“We’re gonna be fine. Don’t give up just yet.”

Itachi really,  _ really  _ wants to believe what Shisui is telling him. He allows the older boy to embrace him. To stroke his hair and tell him that everything will be alright. Because even if it’s a lie- Itachi desperately needs to believe it.

 

* * *

* * *

“Niisan!”

Itachi’s head whips around so quickly that Kisame is left wondering how his neck didn’t snap.

“Niisan, look!”

A little boy tugs at an older one’s shirtsleeve, pointing toward Itachi and Kisame with a mixture of fear and excitement. The older child gives him a small nudge. With this prompting, the child musters up a small smile, waving at the pair of them.

Kisame raises an eyebrow when Itachi smiles and waves back.

The little boy turns pink, and ducks behind his older brother, who laughs and gently berates him.

“You just made that kid’s entire day, Itachi-san,” Kisame chortles. 

“I guess so,” Itachi responds, that melancholy smile of his still on his face.

(It really is a lovely smile. Kisame sort of wishes he got to see it more often.)

The next words come before Kisame has the time to censor them.

“If you smiled like that all the time, you wouldn’t need Sharingan to get what you wanted.”

Itachi turns a bit red in the cheeks, and quickly turns his head aside. 

“What’re you embarrassed for? It’s good to see you lighten up every now and then.”

“Hn.”

Well. This bashful side of Itachi is new. But Kisame doesn't dislike it.

  
  


_ “If you smiled like that all the time, you wouldn’t need Sharingan to get what you wanted.” _

Just what was Kisame trying to tell him with that?!

Those words have been swimming through his mind ever since then, making it nigh-impossible to concentrate on anything. Kisame took great delight in pointing out his distracting during their sparring, though Itachi would never admit in a thousand years what was on his mind.

It’s absolutely ridiculous to be feeling this way, he berates himself. They were just words, and Kisame almost certainly didn’t  _ mean  _ anything by them, right?

He’s just reading too far into things, like he usually does.

He tells himself this as he climbs into bed, going through the nightly ritual of struggling to quiet his mind so he can catch a few precious hours’ rest, before he inevitably succumbs to his usual routine- waking up in a cold sweat, heart trying to crack his sternum to escape.

 

And he does just that, some time around two in the morning.

But not for the reason he normally does.

The images of his dream replay through his mind vividly, insistently, despite Itachi’s valiant efforts to ignore them. He quickly finds that he can’t, any more than he can calm the racing of his heart, or- to his horror- the growing heat between his legs.

He tries oh-so-hard to take his thoughts off the lewd images his brain saw fit to produce while he was asleep. Tries to focus on the rain beating down on the window, on the ticking of the clock on the wall, on Kisame softly snoring on the other side of the room-

_ -Kisame shoving him down into the mattress, sharp teeth grazing against his naked shoulder. _

_ “You want this bad, huh Itachi-san?” _

Itachi curses his weak mind, throwing himself out of the bed and stumbling into the bathroom. He strips out of his pajamas, making a point not to look down at the problem between his legs. Not heeding his bandages, he turns the shower on cold and stands stubbornly under it.

(he doesn't even know where these feelings have materialized from so suddenly.)

After five minutes in the frigid shower, his  _ problem  _ is as prominent as ever. And Itachi’s willpower crumbles.

Swearing under his breath, Itachi turns the hot water on, and prays it’ll cover up any sounds he makes.

Closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look at his shame, he wraps a hand around his aching arousal, and succumbs to the cursed images his mind brought him in his dreams. He presses his back against the shower wall to keep from falling over.

His hand is so much smaller and more frail than Kisame’s- his are strong and steady and nothing at all like his own. So no matter how he tries, he can’t quite capture the sensation his mind conjured up for him. He rakes his nails across his neck softly, mimicking Kisame’s sharp teeth against his fragile skin. He hears Kisame whisper  _ Itachi-san  _ against his ear in the echoes of his memory. Pictures Kisame’s broad, sturdy shoulders and the muscles of his chest and his abdomen that Itachi always admonished himself not to stare at. Pumping himself in a steady rhythm, Itachi lets all these frightening feelings well up inside him.

Heat pools up in his gut, and he knows he won’t last long.

...Just as much as he knows that Kisame would never want to do  _ this  _ sort of thing to someone like him.

Why would he? Kisame was strong and kind and larger than life, always confident and sure of himself and unafraid of anything. Knowing himself, Itachi could never even hope to compare.

(Especially knowing how dirty he is.)

It’s stupid to pretend Kisame would embrace him as he did in his dream, that Kisame would ever touch him so intimately. 

That Kisame would whisper the sweet nothings he’d imagined, in that rough raspy voice Itachi has grown so fond of over the years.

Itachi bites back the moan that bubbles up when he comes. Because moaning would mean accepting the pleasure, and he doesn't deserve that.

(God, what would Kisame think if he knew what a pervert his partner turned out to be?)

  
  



End file.
